The Wings of Storms
by Goat13
Summary: Harry tries to move on with his life after the war, but he is once again trapped in the machinations of megalomaniacs and the supernatural. Now he must adapt to the life and powers of an angel while trying to find his place in a world on the brink of war
1. Ascension

**Hiya! It's a me, Goat13! It's been quite some time since my last update so I'm sure you're wondering what I've been doing. Well, I've been re-reading Campione since I don't want my other Fanfic "Rider of the East" to become too AU. Aside from that, I have been rewriting Rider of the East as well. After a few reviews I have been getting quite a few complaints that it resembles "God slaying Blade Works" too much. With the introduction of my latest Authority I fear the readers would implode from the rage of daring to associate the Authority of a Steel-deity to something related to blades. So I'm taking a step back to re-evaluate the story and edit the places that I don't like. I have no idea how long it will take, but I will tell you now: It is not dead. Neither is Archer of Black for that matter. I'm still rewriting it in order to make people disassociate it with "From Fake Dreams". The end result will be different and I hope people will see it that way as well.**

**Anyway, this is a new story so I'm going to give you some info about it. I love Mythology! I think it's awesome! Reading about the legends of Siegfried/Sigurd or Karna gives you a feeling in your chest that invigorates you somehow. Sigurd and Karna are two of my most favourite heroes and don't be surprised if I include the latter into the story somehow. While I did not like Siegfried in Highschool DxD, I did like the fact that the heroes somehow return as their descendants. I might make Karna a descendant of the original Karna, but I'm not really sure. I think that if you make an OC you should only make them a small part of the story. I hate it when OCs are created and then they take over the whole damn plot. **

**So back to the point; I love Mythology! So when I heard about Highschool DxD and started reading it I couldn't stop. It was magnificent for a Mythaholic such as myself. So I wanted to write a story about it and if you know me then you know I love Harry potter as well so here we are: A Harry Potter and Highschool DxD crossover! Yay!**

**But seriously: I'm surprised there aren't more of them out there. One of the reasons is probably the difference in strength. If Voldemort tried to attack even a Middle-class devil or fallen angel, he would get his ass kicked. I'm sorry, but it's the sad truth. I had the same thing told to me when I wrote a HPxFate Stay Night-fanfic. You can probably say "Well, if Voldemort hit them with Avada Kedavra it would be an instant kill!" I personally don't believe the Avada Kedavra to be that great. If so, why doesn't every Death Eater use it? In this story, I'm going to make the killing curse really weak. In fact it will only work against muggles (Mundanes) or wizards and witches (Wand-wizards). Also I order to separate the worlds apart I chose the route many people don't seem to like.**

**The "Wand-wizards are so arrogant of their own superiority that they shun and despise the other communities to the point of the majority of the magical society forgetting all about them"-route. Wow, that was a mouthful. So most of the HP-verse has forgotten all about the gods and their mythologies and as such they don't believe in them. I chose this route because I don't want to stay in the HP-world too much. Anything from the Highschool DxD would be too OP for any wizard to handle and as such only a few chapters will contain anything from the HP-verse. The only things which will have any kind of significance will be the Deathly Hallows, his scar and Harry's fortune. That's it, everything else will take place in the Highschool DxD-verse aside from the first few chapters which will be about Harry leaving the wizarding world.**

_Spoilers!_

_So this is the part where I explain the whole experimentation. The reason they experimented on him was because he had a stronger body and constitution as well as the fact that the effects on him were lessened. When they were experimenting on the normal humans they would die as soon as the experiment started. So they did not even know what they were doing wrong, but with Harry they could tell what was making them die and what was acceptable since he had weaker reactions to the treatments. If they tried a new procedure they would first see how it reacts on Harry. If it was a violent and bloody reaction they would not try it on the other subjects. If it was a positive reaction then they could use it on the other subjects. They were using him as a sort of test drive. If it wasn't clear in the story then I'm sorry._

_I'm pretty sure you can work out the connection he has to Samael and why he has a core similar to an angel's soul. It's not exactly rocket science._

_Spoilers!_

**So enjoy the story and please leave a review if you have anything to comment. If possible, please be constructive in your criticism. Flamers will be ignored and deleted…**

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**The Wings of Storms**

"So Harry, what's the plan for the Malfoy-case?" Neville asked him from across the locker room. They were in the auror-trainee quarters after the physical training was over for the day. They were the last in the locker room, the reason why Neville had asked him a question about an upcoming trial.

"Well it's more or less finished now. Even if they tried to bribe his way out they wouldn't be able to access their accounts even after the trial is over. Most of it has been used to pay back the Black family after they stole the gold in Sirius's absence. We're still keeping an eye out for their former allies in case they try to convince the judge they're "innocent", but so far there has been no activity whatsoever." Harry told his fellow trainee.

The trial they were talking about was the trial of Lucius and Draco Malfoy, the failures of the Malfoy family. After the war it had come to light that the Malfoy family had used the funds of the Black family in order to sponsor their expensive lifestyle. This was however against the laws of both the ministry and Gringotts and if they didn't pay back every knut they borrowed the goblins would have their heads on spikes by the end of the month.

They barely escaped that gruesome ending by selling their manors, artefacts and servants back to the Black family. As Harry was now the head of the Black family it meant all of Malfoy's former possessions were now Harry's, a fact Harry was not quite sure how to feel about it. One one hand it meant Harry had effectively taken all which was Malfoy's and made it his, but on the other it meant Harry's house, The Black ancestral home was filled with things which at one point belonged to Malfoy. He had to hire a team of first class curse-breakers to remove all of the hidden enchantments and curses the items the goblins brought. Otherwise he would have died from the hundred and then some curses the Malfoys had thought he deserved. Of course, that is if they had enough power to pierce his magical resistance.

Every single being had a certain amount of magical resistance. It was the reason aurors could ignore the weaker spells cast by young wizards and witches and why muggles could be affected by the weakest spells cast by the most incompetent of all. Harry had after the war discovered that his resistance was incredible high. In fact, he could shrug off most curses the mediocre magician was capable of and the effect the more powerful ones had on him was lessened to a great degree. He sometimes doubted he would die even if he was hit by the Avada Kedavra of a normal wizard anymore. He had gone to Gringotts and had himself tested, an expensive procedure, but he could afford it. As it turns out, He had one of the highest magical resistances in the history of Britain.

This test also meant Harry discovered he was the Head of the Potter and Black family. Or he would be as soon as he could claim the damn thing. He had to be nineteen years old to claim the lordship of a noble family and he was currently a few days short of that. It was not that he was all that eager to become Lord Potter-Black; it just meant he could finally access the manor of the Potter family, something he had been looking forward to for a long time. He had bought a flat in London using the money available to him from his parents' trust fund and his job.

While on the subject of jobs, life had been good to him after the war for the most part, a confusing situation for teenager. They had spent a few months rounding up the Death Eaters who were still loyal to their dead master as well as interrogating those who claimed to be under the imperius, this time using the truth serum to back their statements. Needless to say, Azkaban was filled with prisoners more than ever before.

After the Death Eaters had been captured, Harry had been recruited into the Aurors personally by Amelia Bones who gave him an address and when he showed up, she gave him a letter which said he was invited to join the auror corps. Not the most discreet advertisement he had received, but it did get him interested in joining the DMLE once more as more than just a poster boy for the Ministry.

Dumbledore had somehow survived the fall from the tower and when he had appeared again at the End of the War-ceremony it caused quite the uproar. The reason he had been missing for an entire war was because he had been recovering from the false Avada Kedavra Snape had hit him with as well as the damage gained from the fall from the tower. The body in the tomb had in fact been a fake. Harry had been glad that he had survived, but even now he felt a slight distrust for the man. He had been planning to make Harry kill himself in order to end the war, but had he even considered the fact that there might have been ways to remove the horcrux without killing the host? Harry had spent the last few months studying soul magic, a very obscure branch of magic which focused less on the practical and more on the theoretical side of the mystic arts. While he was no expert by any means, he could at least perform the more basic of exercises which focused on cleansing the soul from impurities. A soul fragment from another person is also considered to be an impurity and if he had used this exercise while still being a horcrux he would have gotten rid of the fragment within a year. He could have avoided the whole "Have to die so he can be killed"- scenario. It also infuriated him as he suspected the older wizard had also at one point studied soul magic and that he had for some reason deemed that method to be insufficient without even bothering to try.

Aside from his newfound distrust for the man, he had some issues with the Weasleys. He and Ginny had dated for a while after the war, but they had been too different for them to truly connect. Harry had never been one to seek danger, but he did enjoy the thrill of adventure, very much like his father he was told. It was one of the reasons his mother had started warming up to the teenager called James Potter. She used to be called a spitfire by her parents, partly because she was deadly when angered and partly because she had always wanted one since she was a baby.

Ginny had in contrast wanted to stay in Britain and start a family as soon as possible. If she had her way, Harry had not gone into the DMLE or professional quidditch as he had first wanted to. He would have started working in her father's department as his subordinate, only to take over her father's position when Arthur retired. Harry had not been amused by her suggestion and had been quite determined to follow his own path. It had quickly devolved into a row with her telling him it was either her way or the highway, with Harry choosing option number two. She even tried to throw him out of his own apartment by locking the door and telling him he was not welcomed there anymore. He responded with blasting the door open and throwing her stuff out the window and then locking her out. She had gone back to her parents' house and told an extremely edited version of what had happened, something which split the Weasley family into two sides; with Arthur, George and Bill taking Harry's side and Molly, Percy, Charlie and Ron taking Ginny's side. It was shocking that Ron would take Ginny's side over his own, but he dealt with it.

The end result was Harry being banned from the burrow and him refusing to let Ginny into any of his properties. It had taken a while before he could talk to Ron again and even now, six months after the quarrel, they were not on the same terms as before. They could talk and sometimes it felt as if they were friends again, but there was always a certain distance between them which reminded him of the time in fourth year when his friend thought he had entered the tournament on his own. Although lately they had been able to spend more time without Ron mentioning Ginny and it seemed like things were getting better.

The last of the Death Eaters had also been rounded up with the wealthier of the purebloods being the last to escape conviction. It had been an uphill struggle, but all of the dark lord's followers were now either behind bars or awaiting trial.

Malfoy Senior and Junior were two of those who had escaped the first wave of auror-raids by bribing the officers. This tactic failed however when the aurors realized the Malfoys had lost their money to the Boy-Who-Lived and they had little more than the Weasleys in terms of real estate value. Like vultures, the allies Malfoy had gained over the years turned on them and informed the aurors over their dirty little secrets before they could start blabbering from the truth potion. In the end, Madame Bones had enough evidence to lock the father and son-duo away for hundreds of years which meant the Malfoy line was going to end and their meagre possessions given to Narcissa who had, like so many others, betrayed them. The trial was the only thing left and it was mostly just a formality, but Lucius had squirmed his way out of so many other situations that the DMLE deemed it necessary to have a full guard during the trial.

The reason Harry, a trainee, was privy to the details was because he was the one who had been able to verify the Malfoys association with Voldemort as a Death Eater. While Narcissa had a change of heart and helped him deceive riddle in the forest when she realized her son was in danger, Senior and Junior had not lost their old ways. When it was apparent that the Death Eaters were being incarcerated and that no amount of bribes would aid them, Lucius and Draco had tried to assassinate the prosecutors in a desperate attempt to avoid an Azkaban-sentence. Fortunately, Madame Bones and her colleagues had anticipated their plan and had taken measures against it. Not even the most experienced and eager assassin would ever attempt to kill the Head of a house in their manor, especially not when the regular traps were supported by dementors.

And so for the first time since his first year at Hogwarts, Harry felt free. He did not have a dark wizard trying to kill him, a legendary beast that wanted to eat/toast him alive nor the mindless masses who thought he was the next dark lord. For once his life was his own to live. To Harry, whose existence so far had been decided by factors out of his control, it was an alien feeling. The first couple of months he had been lost in, a manner of speaking. He had defeated Voldemort, something even he thought he would never have succeeded in doing. As a result of the sheer impossibility of the task, Harry had not made any plans whatsoever. Sure, thoughts of becoming a professional quidditch player or an auror captain had crossed his mind, but they were more of uncertain possibilities rather than actual plans. In order to occupy himself, he had dedicated himself in hunting down the last of Voldemort's forces, but he had no idea of what he actually wanted to do. Amelia's offer to become an auror had come at a good point since he still had the War-mentality, something Moody had warned him about. It wasn't until he had considered interrogating his neighbour to see if he was a Death Eater that he discovered he was suffering from Posttraumatic Stress Disorder.

So he went on a vacation for a month in order to calm down and relax. It was hard, trying to ignore the alerts that were going off in his head. He kept thinking that the waitress serving him had poisoned his food, or that the room service were Death Eaters in disguise. Everywhere he went he saw enemies and he had to ward his room in a muggle hotel just so he could go to sleep for a few hours. He had considered going to therapy, but decided not to in the end. If the wizarding world heard he was seeing a therapist they would start thinking he was going mad and demand he be locked away in Azkaban just to be safe. It didn't matter that lots of aurors go to therapy after a raid went wrong; Harry was the Boy-Who-lived so he was an exception to that rule of course. It didn't help that Harry had a "history" with delusions and madness thanks to Rita Skeeter and the ministry. No, he could not see someone for his problems. He would have to sort it out himself.

In the end, Harry spent a month in various places around the world; The Bahamas, Hawaii, Australia, Florida, France and Brazil. He had not chosen the places himself; it was Sirius who had recommended them for him. After he had escaped he had been suffering from PTSD as well and he had used something much more basic to combat it than therapy; the need for Sexual Reproduction. While his stay in Azkaban had left him sterile, Sirius had not lost his appreciation for the fairer sex. He had toured the world's beaches for scantily clad women and even though he was not the healthiest man in the world (Courtesy of the Dementors) he did have a way with words and he had spent most of his nights regaining his strength in the apartments of various women who did not mind the extra mouth to feed.

Harry had no need to recover his strength, his training had ensured that, but he did think it might be a good idea to leave Britain and get Ginny out of his head. He had met several women during his travels, including a certain French Veela and her little sister who were quite surprised when they had met. The end result had not been quite as successful as he would have wished, but he was in a far better state of mind than when he had left.

Now he was back in Britain and had just finished his training for the day. After he said goodbye to Neville he went home for the day. His muscles were sore from the workout, but it was a welcomed pain. Pain was better than death and the more pain you feel in peace, the less death you experience in war. Harry could confirm that statement himself.

Unlocking the door to his flat, he entered his home. The apartment he owned was in the centre of London and had been magically expanded to hold more space than the other apartments. It wasn't really necessary though. Ginny had insisted he enchant it as they would need the extra space eventually, in other words, when they had kids. When she moved out she took her things with her and Harry had never had much when it came to possessions so most of the rooms had very little to decorations. He only had the bare necessities such as furniture and kitchenware so the flat gave of the sense of being emptiness every time someone entered it. The walls were painted a deep red and black, the result of Harry's attempt to get rid of the horrendous green and brown Ginny had insisted they get. The dark wooden floor did not alleviate the feeling of darkness the hallway gave off and neither did the ceiling with its similar colour.

A lot of people had questioned his choice of decoration when it came to his new home, but it hadn't really bothered him. Aside from the colours he used to get rid of the traces of Ginny had left, red and black had always been close to him. Lily Evans stood for the red, the main source being her hair. Unlike the orange-red the Weasleys had, his mother had the deepest of crimson. Lily had been the brightest and one of the most beautiful witches of her generation. She was as beautiful as one could get without having Veela blood in her veins, some had said and her most stunning feature, aside from her eyes, had been her hair. Harry had inherited her eyes, but her hair had been her own and nobody in her family could say they shared that trait. Not even Petunia, her sister, could claim she possessed Lily's vibrant red.

The black however was from his father. The only thing all Potter males had in common, aside from a taste for crimson-haired witches and a penchant for mayhem, was the unruly crow nest they call hair. Every single wizard who claimed to be a Potter possessed raven black hair which could never be tamed, no matter the actions taken to control it. A famous witch who had once married a Man from the Potter line had once said: "It would be easier to stop the lightning from striking than to try and master the chaos Potters call hair." Harry felt he had to agree. Not even the hair products Hermione had used for the Yule Ball had succeeded in making his mop any more agreeable. It just made it harder to wash afterwards.

So there he was in his apartment, alone and the way he wanted it. He had just finished putting his bag on the floor when he heard the floor creaking behind him. He didn't even have time to straighten his back before something slammed into the back of his head and he blacked out.

**The Wings of Storms**

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was the pain in his head. His skull felt as if it was cracked open and someone had tried to force the pieces of bone apart, but had only succeeded halfway before leaving him on the floor.

The second thing he noticed was the fact that he was lying on the floor in a white room devoid of furniture, windows, lights and doors. The only thing in the entire room, which seemed more like the padded cell a psychiatric patient might stay in, was the large mirror which seemed to take up half the wall it was residing on. Aside from the uncomfortably spartan and medical impression it gave, it was the light which unnerved him the most.

The light did not come from a single source, but seemed to originate from the room itself. Of course this could be accomplished with magic, but since when have wizards ever taken design tips from sci-fi movies?

Harry himself was wearing what appeared to be white hospital scrubs with the back held together by a pair of strings which zigzagged over the gap. After a gentle touch to the back of his head he quickly removed his hand when the pain doubled and his fingers came back slick with blood.

His attacker had used a physical object to attack him instead of simply stunning. So they must have known about his higher than normal magical resistance. That was disconcerting, considering the only people he had ever told were Hermione and Ron. Had they leaked his secret to anyone even when he had made them promise not to tell?

"Are you sure this one can handle it? The ones you supplied earlier could not handle the strain of the ascension so what makes you think this one will be any different?"

Someone was talking beyond a door. The speaker was female and, judging by the smooth and melodic quality of the voice, quite young to boot. Harry would gladly have spent hours listening to the voice if it wasn't for the fact that every word which emanated from the strangers mouth brought forth a wave of pain in his skull. His head ached from the bruise he had received, but for the life of him he could not figure out what had happened. Had he been attacked? Had some of Voldemort's remnant forces ambushed him while his guard was down?

"The boy survived the killing curse twice and after the second time he was still capable of fighting Voldemort in an honest duel. If he cannot give you some clue as to why your project isn't progressing then I don't know who can. His heart is as pure and moral as is humanly possible. It is only fitting that he gives his life up to the Greater Good as he has already done so once before."

There was another voice, but this one was older and it had a raspy tone to it, like the person who spoke suffered from a disease. Harry recognised that voice, but from where? Had he heard it from a Death Eater? Probably not. The majority of DE were in their forties and fifties, but this voice sounded far older and when you count the fact that wizards age slower the list if people who could have such a voice was narrowed down immensely.

"Yes, the supposedly unstoppable killing curses. Honestly, nearly all the magic communities and groups in the world have already stopped using that curse due to the fact that it is so weak that it can only kill mundane people and wand wizards. Why you still revel at the level of mongrels is beyond me. The world looks down on you and you act as if it is inferior, it's no wonder even the weakest of mythologies prefer to use the mundane fools instead of wizards like you, Dumbledore." The female voice laughed and the melodic tune it carried changed into a condescending tone.

Dumbledore was here? Why would he be here with the Death Eaters? And… why did it sound like he was selling Harry off to this mystery woman?

"It is for the Greater good. If the magical world was to access the magic the church and other organizations used then it would descend into chaos. If you consider the devils with their contracts and Evil Pieces then the alternative of keeping the wizarding world weak, but ignorant is an outcome _I_ can accept. This way we can use their overconfidence to convince them that using anything other wizarding magic is degrading." Came Dumbledore's reply and it did not carry the grandfatherly kindness Harry had grown accustomed to over the years. It was cold and calculative, the voice Voldemort had used when they had duelled for the last time.

"Of course, and the fact that you are dying of as disease which has no effects on angels has nothing to do with it? Oh please Albus, who are you trying to fool? Me? Or is it yourself you are trying to convince? If the latter then go ahead, I don't mind. But if the former then you are out of luck, brat. I am thousands of years old and have seen men stronger than you fall to the temptations of immortality. They spend their lives fighting, mating, eating and drinking, but when the bells of time are ringing they suddenly realize they don't have much life left. So you came to us, offering assistance in return for a new lease on life. I suppose when you have become an angel you would return to the world you are so proud of and declare yourself their eternal ruler?" The female spoke with such confidence even Harry was stunned by the declaration. Judging by the silence, Dumbledore was as well. For several seconds not a word was said and Harry, despite the pounding in his head, was dying to hear the response. The answer Dumbledore was not one he had been hoping for.

"What does it matter? You have the boy and several others I have supplied you with. I have gone above and beyond what our original deal entailed. I have given hundreds of muggleborns and even some half-bloods as well yet you have not succeeded despite almost forty years of research. Yes, I did intend to cure my disease by becoming an angel and leading the world into a glorious new age, but if you cannot take even a single step in that direction then for what reason are we here now, trading barbs as we speak? I know of your contempt for the human race and frankly the reason you are working on this project is incomprehensible to me, but I know you do not enjoy wasting time so why this little interview? Why would you seek to understand my desire to protect the world and give my race a new start?" Dumbledore finished with a tint of irritation creeping into his voice.

Harry was speechless. He could not believe the words he was hearing. Was professor Dumbledore serious? The voice was similar, but the tone it held was a far cry from the usual warmth. It was greedy and impatient, a disgusting mix of entitlement and jealousy. Had he just admitted to signing Harry away to this stranger for experimentation? To become… an angel of all things?

"It matters because if want to see what you would do if you met someone who honestly believed in you and suddenly got to see your ugly, true side. It has been on my mind a long time now. Every time a new shipment came in I would wonder `If the people knew what a monster their leader truly was, would they still follow him? Would they still be able to call themselves followers of light? ´. That question has been driving me mad lately and it has come to the point that my work is being compromised due to lack of focus. Why just last week I lost a pair of siblings due to the fact that I was thinking about how to make you lose your composure when it happened and suddenly I poured to much divine essence into the boy and the explosion crippled the girl. An unfortunate accident, but it did tell me I needed to get it out of my mind. So I devised a plan, not a very cunning plan, but it seemed to have worked splendidly." The voice said as it became more and more ecstatic. You could hear the excitement gushing out as it spoke and the rapid breathing was becoming more and more evident. Suddenly the mirror on the wall became see-through and Harry could get a good look at the speakers.

On the right stood a woman, but she was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Dressed in what appeared to be a white robe, it was a far cry from the robes witches used. The clothing wizards used were thick and clumsy, as if they made it cumbersome on purpose or if they thought it would make them look even more pompous. The robe the woman wore was completely white and devoid of any decorations. It resembled more the tunica and toga worn by romans, yet the woman made it look as if it was the latest of fashion. Her blonde hair flowed around her shoulder down to the small of her back. Her creamy white skin was free from any blemish or bruise and her ocean blue eyes made her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her scarlet lips sported as smile as observed the man in front of her.

On the left stood Dumbledore in his rainbow-coloured robes with his white beard flowing down, making him appear similar to the merlin from old cartoons. His everpresent half-moon spectacles were on their usual place on his crooked nose and for a moment Harry forgot about what he had done. Then the revelation came back twice as hard and it made the betrayal twice as painful. Despite all he wanted to say and scream, in the end all, he said was…

"Why?"

The question seemed to snap Dumbledore out of his staring contest with the woman on the right. His vision zeroed in on Harry and surprise appeared on his face, as if he had not expected the boy behind the glass to see him. Something akin to shame appeared on his face before it was gone, replaced by the grandfatherly visage he had grown so used to seeing over the last eight years.

"My boy, it's not what you think. I don't know how much you heard, but there is a logical explanation for this." He explained a comforting smile on his face. He stepped closer to the glass and Harry did as well, anger and hatred giving him the boost he needed against the tidal wave of pain he was feeling.

"Oh really? And what kind of logic excuses you for having kidnapped me and have me thrown in a cell?" Harry's anger leaked into his voice, giving his question more edge than needed. Harry welcomed the extra sharpness though as it made the headmaster pause in his excuse. The old man was startled by the venom in his tone and had to regain his composure before he could begin.

"As you know, the horcrux inside you changed you. It turned you into a parslemouth and even a year after Voldemort has been defeated you still haven't lost your scar or the ability to speak to snakes. I was afraid that some part of the horcrux had remained and Voldemort was not truly defeated. It was not a chance I could take, not after so many lives had been lost in the war. That's why I had you brought here to this facility. The doctors here will examine you and find out what is wrong with you. Once you are cured you will be released and you'll be able to return to your normal life."

The old headmaster said with practiced ease. It may have had the same tone and voice as the normal explanations the provided, but now it sounded ridiculous.

"In case you haven't noticed _Professor_, I have been studying up on soul magic and other branches of obscure arts. One of the things I have learnt is that the soul reflects the body so if you happened to have a soul fragment hitch a ride on your soul for seventeen years, your body will gain some of the characteristics of the fragment while your own soul is untouched. Since you also know soul magic I know you have also learnt this little fact. In other the words, your little explanation has nothing to do with why you decided to lock me up in here!" was the reply Harry gave the older wizard.

Dumbledore, who had for some reason expected his answer to sooth the younger man was shocked when it seemed to blow up in his face instead. In desperation he looked around and his landed on the woman beside him.

"Pravel! What did you do? I know you have something to do with this?" He shouted at the smiling woman. When she heard him and saw his bewildered expression she could not hold her laughter back it seemed and sweet song-like laughter filled the rooms.

"Come now, Albus. Don't tell me you forgot that your little mind tricks have no effect through the enchanted glass. Did you really think I would let you walk away from this after only using a little mind magic in order to slither your way out of this little predicament?" her voice carried no ill will, only joy. She then turned to the glass and looked at Harry. "You there, boy! You heard what he said earlier right? He has been giving us hundreds of witches and wizards over the years in order to extend his own life. You are but one of those sacrifices!" the woman said.

To hear the companion of the headmaster confirm what the headmaster had said minutes earlier only fuelled his rage. He tried smashing the glass in order to throttle the old man, but the barrier was simply too tough for his flesh and bone to break. Instead he could feel his hand shatter under the impact. Bone punctured skin and muscles were torn the moment his fist reached the glass. He held back a scream as the pain from his hand reached his brain. He could see the numerous bones which instead of being inside of his hand were protruding out in several locations. Though it made his blood boil due to the fact that he could not get to the man who put him there, it did alleviate some of the pain in his skull since he was more focused on the injury on his hand.

"Why, Dumbledore? Why go through all this effort to have me kill Riddle only to sell me out like this?" he asked while holding his hand and trying to stop the bleeding. There was already a small puddle of blood on the ground and he did not want to bleed out before hearing the aged wizard answer.

The headmaster of Hogwarts took a deep breath and suddenly the grandfather he never had was gone. Instead was a calculating, cold man who Harry had no idea who he was.

"The world is foolish, Harry. If left alone it would destroy itself and you know it. Voldemort is but one example of this, Fudge another. If it is to survive then it needs a strong leader, a permanent leader. Who would take up the mantle of protecting the wizarding world from the magical communities and different mythologies? You? Your friend Granger? Or even Malfoy? Even if you were to reach the position of minister, which you won't as nobody would stand to have a half-blood as a leader, you would still perish after a few decades and the cycle would repeat again. So what choice do we have, but to let one of our own ascend to a higher level of evolution in order to lead the rest of the flock?" He paused as he looked at Harry. The look in his eyes could be called determined, but to Harry it was psychotic.

"So you would take that place and be the king of wizards, is that it? What about those who would not want an immortal ruler? What would you do about them?" Harry asked him, but he was afraid he already knew the answer.

"It would not be too hard to make them appear to be upcoming dark lords. It wouldn't be the first I have made my opponents fall into that role. Not all the Death Eaters in Azkaban were followers of Voldemort, Harry. Just like not all the Death Eater-raids were performed by actual Death Eaters. In a few days, the world will know that Harry Potter was killed by zealots of Voldemort." The way he said implied no shame or guilt. Only pure efficiency.

"And Hermione and Ron then? They know I'm alive and as long as I'm alive they won't stop searching for me." It was true. During the last year of the war, Hermione had devised a spell that tied a human's life energy to a physical object. Not a horcrux by any means as all it did was monitor the subject and if the user died then the object would break. Hermione and Ron still carried his as he did theirs.

"I'm afraid your friends were the ones who helped me put you here. It was actually a little too easy if I may say so myself. Young Mister and Miss Weasley had no trouble betraying you after I mentioned the monetary gains a fake will would grant them and Miss Granger was all too eager to get her hands on the library of the Potter and Black families. Of course they will not be receiving the full worth of either. The gold of the two families will be funding the campaigns I will be driving and a muggleborn should never get their hands on the arts of a pureblood family. It is also one of the reasons you mustbe out of the picture. As a half-blood, it would be a disgrace if you were to read your parents will and become Lord Potter and Black. You would not know what to do with it and the power and fame would go to your head. No, the position of the leader of light should go to someone capable and worthy of such a position." He said, completely unfazed by the fury in Harry's eyes.

"But do not worry, Harry. They won't kill you, or not intentionally of course. You see, in order for me to ascend to the heavens I have to become an angel. But so far nobody has survived the procedure. It seems as if a human cannot safely pass the barrier between human and angel, but a wizard stand a higher chance. On the other hand, a wizard already possesses quite the amount of magic and that magic becomes quite volatile when in contact with divine power. The last problem is the personality. An angel can fall and become a fallen angel. If a human who was so depraved he would already have fallen if he was an angel was to go through the angelization then the energy would become unstable and the resulting explosion would be tremendous. So far the angels have had little success on these fronts, but with you I'm hoping to change that. You have a high tolerance to pain so you would not lose your mind and your ability to survive is astounding. Not only that, your willpower is quite impressive, you won't fall from simple acts of lust and rage, will you? With you I'm sure they will be able to make progress quickly." Dumbledore finished with a smile, victory clearly in grasp.

Harry would have responded, but the woman took the silence as an opportunity to interrupt.

"Well, this was an interesting experience. To think the brat had such a vision for himself. I'm quite surprised actually. I knew you had a large ego, but this surpassed my expectations. Since I have what I wanted and you have no further purpose here, I suggest you leave Albus. You need a proper alibi when they discover that the…`boy-who-lived'… is missing. It would not do for our supplier to be arrested after all." She told the aged man with none of the delirious excitement she held earlier. Now her tone was bored, like she was playing with a toy she had outgrown years ago. She waved at Dumbledore away, is if she wanted to say `Shoo, shoo!' it seemed as of Dumbledore was used to this kind of dismissal and walked away without a look towards Harry. When the door had closed, Pravel turned towards him.

Suddenly Harry felt a chill up his spine. This woman, Dumbledore had been working with her for who knows how many years so she was obviously dangerous, but how dangerous? Had she been a normal witch then he could have defeated her even without his wand, but since they had been talking about angels then could she be one of them? Too many unknowns, too many variables. What should he do? He had smashed his fist when he struck the glass so he was already bleeding too much and if she came in here then she had the advantage.

"Do not worry, I won't kill you." The woman, Pravel, said. Her melodic voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "It would be such a waste to waste such a valuable test subject. No, you will be examined very thoroughly before we even begin any procedures. Consider yourself lucky. I will be overseeing your progress personally." She said as she leaned towards the glass. He knew she was dangerous, but for some reason he could not help, but want to touch it as well.

"Why are you doing this? Angels don't even exist so why would Dumbledore want to become one? Or has he just gone mad?" Harry asked her, the blood loss making him dizzy and lightheaded. She giggled and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Oh, he is mad. He came to us demanding we turn him into an angel and acting as if he had all the right in the world to do it. Can you imagine that? A human demanding things from an angel? After his defeat of Grindelwald he was obsessed with immortality and as a result became delusional. But the part about angels existing? That's where you're wrong. Angels have always existed. We are God's warriors, sent by him to eradicate the sinners and heathens. However, after the Great War we were outnumbered and the other factions became stronger. We needed to bolster our forces so we agreed on a truce and for the last few hundred years we have tried to find a way to manufacture angels from humans. Though it seems your kind is too weak to even serve that purpose as all you have been able to accomplish is dying a painful death." She informed him.

She seemed to actually regret this fact despite the tone she sued when mentioning the humans. Whenever she mentioned the race she was apparently performing experiments on her expression would change. She would look disgusted, like when you looked at a cockroach or at something which had died and left to rot in the sun. When she mentioned her test subjects however it would soften, as if she cared about them.

"No matter, while the act of surviving the killing curse is no challenge to even the weakest of magicians, a new-born child surviving one is something completely different. I'm hoping you'll be able to give me the answers I need, Hadrian." She pressed something on the wall on the other side of the glass and a bright light enveloped the room. When the light disappeared his hand had been healed to the point that he couldn't even tell it had been injured. Not a trace of scar tissue or change in skin-color, the hand seemed as if it had never been harmed at all.

The… angel… did not seem to notice his awe at the miraculous healing which even Madam Pomfrey would have needed an hour to heal and simply started walking towards the door. Before she left however she gave him a final warning.

"I suggest you get some rest tonight. You have a very busy schedule tomorrow."

And then she was gone, leaving Harry in the room filled with light.

**The Wings of Storms**

Report of Lady Pravel

**Project: "Brave Saints"**

_Subject: 578 AKA Hadrian James Potter Black_

_Date: _1999, July 19

_Stage: _1

Subject 578 or as the rest of the worworld knows him as, Harry Potter, is quite interesting from a scientific point of view. Despite being from the race of wizards and witches, he possesses a decent physique, something wizards a notorious for deeming useless. His magical power is also above the usual amount for a wand-wizard and if taken into account the fact that he hasn't had his final maturation as a magician, his magic should grow even stronger. Aside from what few defects we could find (The infamous scar on his forehead, a cracked wisdom tooth and a number of scars on his hand which are formed into a sentence which says `I must not tell lies') he appears to be in the prime of his life. In fact he appears to have stopped aging in the prime of his life. The records show that he is nineteen years old yet his physical age is below that by almost three years. This may be in part due to the decrease in aging wand-wizards go acquire after a certain age, but that factor would only matter if Subject 57 had gone through his maturation, something we earlier established he hadn't. In other words, Subject 578's unknown abilities are due to something beyond the capabilities of wand-wizards. Further examination is required before moving onto stage two.

Report of Lady Pravel

**Project: "Brave Saints"**

_Subject: _578 AKA Hadrian James Potter Black

_Date_: 1999, August 5

_Stage_: 1

After careful examination we have discovered the anomaly responsible for his youthful appearance. At some point in life, 578 had some kind of contact with Samael. Although it is impossible to understand exactly what kind of relationship they had, it is certain that the former angel of death had some kind influence over 578 as the subject's magical core has been altered to resemble the soul of an angel, or more accurately the core of an angel. The magical pattern of 578 is eerily similar to the fallen angel. From the anti-dragon qualities to their wavelengths, 578 appear to be a human version of our former comrade. This might also be the reason for his survival of the "Killing Curse", Avada Kedavra. However, any attempts to discover the source of the change has been made with failure and due to the sealed nature of Samael, we are unable to contact him either. Although this discovery does present its own fair share of mysteries. Why would Samael, an angel known for his hatred for humans, go so far as to aid a human? Even more puzzling, how did Samael come in contact with 578? He has been sealed for the last hundred years and 578 did not even know of the existence of angels and devils when he was first brought here. Regardless, the first stage has been completed and no further examination yields any results apart from what we already know about him. Tomorrow we shall begin stage two.

**Psychological note**: Subject 578 has shown to be of remarkable calibre, both morally and psychologically speaking. Despite the new situation and unknown faces, he has not lost his courage or hope. The foolishness Albus Dumbledore spoke of is nowhere in sight. While subject 578 has lost control of his anger several times already, he has never attacked his guards in a blind attempt to escape. It is not cowardice, but intelligence he's using while in here. The professor told us he was a typical "Gryffindor", a fool who rushes into combat before knowing the enemy or the circumstances. Instead what we received was more along the lines of an experienced commander who knows how to choose his battles. While I'm confident in the security of this facility and the ability of the guards, I think I will add another squadron to keep watch in that particular sector. It would not do to lose our latest gold mine just after scratching the surface.

Report of Lady Pravel

**Project: "Brave Saints"**

_Subject:_ 578 AKA Hadrian James Potter Black

_Date:_ 1999, November 20

_Stage:_ 2

It has been four months since the second stage of Subject 578's ascension began and the result have been varied. While the magic inside wizards have been the largest hurdle so far, we have underestimated its severity. 578 was a strong wizard in terms of magic quantity and quality and we expected there to be more side effects than the average subject. However we were not prepared when the subject's magical maturity started about two months into the treatment. We had to call for the medics as we were afraid we might lose him due to the blood loss, but the blood had stopped flowing by the time they arrived. The accident was quite the shock for the doctors who were used to losing patients, but not quite so violently. While it was a sad that we had not foreseen that possible scenario, it did have a few positive results. The stronger the magic humans possess, the more violent response they receive. However, the more skilled a human is in controlling that energy the easier it is for them to adapt to the divine essence. Could this be the breakthrough we have been searching for? 578 was able to direct the flow of divine energy using an art called Occlumency and by controlling his breathing and pulse. While it may be a useless piece of magic to us angels, it might be a way to increase the survival rate of the human test subject. Could it be possible to install an automatic function into the prototype Brave Saints? While the initial steps are over we have not seen any direct result of the angelization so far. Perhaps it might be a good idea to investigate the Evil Pieces the devils are so proud of and see if they have a function to control the body during the reincarnation?

_Psychological Note:_ Ever since 578 has entered his maturation, his temper has changed dramatically. He still possesses the calculative look in his eyes and his anger is present, but now it is tempered. He hardly loses his temper anymore and it might be because of his Occlumency growing better as he has been directing the divinity easier than before, but I am… uncomfortable in keeping him in the same cellblock as the other test subjects. If he achieves ascension and is able to hide it from the scientists he might be able to escape if the guards lower their guard. If he releases the other subjects then not only will decades of work be lost, but the risk of the archangels discovering what we're doing will skyrocket. We cannot afford that risk, not when we have just broken through a wall which has been blocking our way for hundreds of years. A goal we thought was hundreds of years away could be reached within a decade now.

Tomorrow I will have subject 578 moved to a solitary cellblock with his own personal guard. It is better to be safe than sorry.

* * *

Report of Lady Pravel

**Project: "´Brave Saints"**

_Subject_: 578 AKA Hadrian James Potter Black

_Date_: 2000, January 15

_Stage_: 2

The final step of Stage two is now complete. Our success so far has been astounding and as much as it grates me to admit it, most of it is due to the subject Albus Dumbledore donated at the end of last July. Subject 578 has been a veritable gold mine in terms of research. Most of the test subjects died long before we could determine what had happened and the ones who survived could not be called successes in any sense of the word. Then we started with 578 and in six months we have come further in our research than we have in the last hundred years. After careful study we were able to create an artificial energy-brig capable of diverting the magical energy away from the divine energy long enough for the angelization to begin without killing the subject. The Brave Saints-prototype has even been given a shape; a flat rectangular piece of metal with which we have grafted our research upon.

Although that does not mean we have succeeded yet. None of the humans we experimented on survived the procedure unfortunately. While they lived longer than any of the earlier subjects by at least an hour, the end result was a failure. The subjects did show signs of ascension with deformed wings and some were even impaled by their own spears of light, which means it was at least a partial success. It showed us we were on the right track at least though we are still too far behind. The fallen angels can have a steady supply of recruits as long as there are still pure angels left and the devils have their accursed Evil Pieces to rely on to bolster their forces and from the reports we have been getting, there are even offspring between pure-blooded devils and reincarnated devils now. If we are to regain our power as a faction then we need to turn this project into a success.

When it comes to subject 578 however, we can stand tall and proud at least. While he has not grown wings or a halo, he has shown the ability to use light as a weapon. One of the exorcists stationed as guards in this facility had decided to take out his stress and frustration on the subject, but was surprised when he found a sword made of light penetrating his chest. The death of an exorcist is an unfortunate event as it means our guard has lost a competent colleague and it also means Michael might discover what we are doing, however I fail to feel that much grief about it. If the guard had not attacked the subject then we would not have known 578 was capable of using the light as a weapon. How much else had he been keeping a secret from us? Could he have been planning to escape, using our ignorance as a trump card?

It is therefore I have come to the realization that Subject 578 is becoming more dangerous the longer the project goes on. Most of our progress comes from 578 and for that I am reluctant to get rid of him as I could use him for later research, but he is becoming too dangerous to keep around. The human guards are too afraid to handle him and the angels under my command are first and foremost scientists, not warriors. If we were to try to dispose of him then there is a chance they would see it as a sin and fall as a consequence due to their lack of experience. How did I fail to foresee this? How could I let our greatest resource become a double-edged sword? I blame myself for this blunder. I was so excited at our success that I was blinded by the growing threat that was Subject 578. I know he is not powerful enough to break out of his cell and I know he is not powerful enough to slay all the angels who currently guard him. But I also "knew" that he was unable to use holy light as a weapon and that he would be helpless if one of the guards had decided to put him down. Who's to say I'm not wrong here either? Could the whelp of a man really have achieved the level of power to escape? I don't know. Each time I look at him I see the cunning of a snake and the venom of one too and I'm reminded of Lucifer before he fell. A powerful angel who strayed from the path and brought our race onto the path of destruction.

I cannot let him stay alive much longer. Each day he spends here is a day he is growing stronger. Soon I must call the end of subject 578 despite the potential benefits of keeping him alive. The risk is simply too great.

* * *

Report from Lady Pravel

**Project: "Brave Saints"**

_Subject_: 578 AKA Hadrian James Potter Black

_Date: _2000, April 28

_Stage: _3

Despite my better judgement, I allowed my fellow scientist to convince me to let subject 578 to live. It is… difficult to explain my anxiety to my comrades as they are blinded by the success we have achieved from 578, just like I too was blinded by the sweet taste of progress we were denied for so long. They have started to converse with him now, they are telling him things. Like the Great War in which the four Maou as well as our lord died, our difficulty in breeding, the makeshift truce we have with the other factions and mythologies. It pains me to see my scientists, my angel brethren, accept this pseudo-angel so easily. They think that just because he has been able to adapt to the angelization more than anyone else and survive, he will rise as an angel worthy of becoming seraphim as if it is the most natural thing in the world. I've even seen some of the female angels and exorcists cast their eyes at him when it is time to clean the subjects. Have they no shame? He is not an angel nor will he ever accepted as one. Even if he survives the last stage of the Brave Saints-procedure and becomes a full angel, he will still be disposed of when the project is over. No trace of the research we conducted in this facility can ever reach the eyes of the archangels. If they found out that we have been using kidnapped children to advance our research, our names would be ruined and we would be exiled from Heaven. Such a thing cannot be allowed.

Yet I have been experiencing times when my consciousness is clouded. Unnatural feelings have found their way into my chest and I'm growing increasingly worried about it. I remember Lucifer telling me about them in the months before his fall. Lust, hate, greed and envy, he told me, are the first feelings an angel should learn about. At the time I thought he meant it in a defensive context, that in order to protect ones purity one must learn about the enemy. But it later became apparent he meant it because he was already falling. It that what is happening, am I falling?

It all started when that boy arrived. That filthy whelp, looking at me with those judging eyes. How dare he look at me like that?! I am an angel several millennia older than him and he looks down on me with those sly eyes? Even worse, my sisters are starting to look at him with the eyes of a subordinate and they are starting to adhere to his requests. He now possesses a bookshelf filled with books on the three factions and they see nothing wrong about it? He should hate us for what we are doing to him and he wants to learn about us? No, it is a trick, a ploy. He doesn't want to join us in heaven; he wants to kill us and in order to do that he must learn our weaknesses.

So even as I know this, I write my signature, authorizing the advancement into the third stage of the project. The complete angelization of the subject. Once this stage is complete, subject 578 will "hopefully" have become a complete angel, a reincarnated angel we have worked so hard for centuries to complete. I fear that my dislike for the boy has less to do with who he is and more with who he is becoming. If I do this I will have experimented on an angel. Each test brings him closer to our own form and our sins will be all the more apparent. Testing and experimenting on a human is no sin, they can take it, but to do the same to an angel? Lucifer fell because he turned his fangs on his brothers and sisters and are we not doing the same thing if we allow him to complete the change?

I fear we have become the thing we have fought all along.

* * *

Report of Lady Pravel

**Project: "Brave Saints"**

_Subject: _578 AKA Hadrian James Potter Black

_Date_: 2000, June 3

_Stage_: 3

It disappeared. It's gone. The sly appearance that showed he was planning something, the calculative look in his eyes which sent shivers down your spine if you focused on it too much. His posture which was tense and straight is now relaxed and calm. What had happened? What has he done?!

There should not be any reason for him to change strategy like this. He should still be tense and nervous as he's planning his escape, not calm and composed. It's as if he knows something we don't, something which can turn the tables should he wish for it. He should not have an ace in the sleeve to play at this point, not after he's been cut off from his friends for so long with no one to talk to except angels and exorcists for months. So why is he acting so smug?

He has become an angel. That's it! That is the only logical explanation I can come up with. Sometime during these last few weeks he has finished the third stage and become a complete angel. The only question is how he kept it a secret. He has a guard around him 24/7 and he cannot hide behind covers as we have removed any furniture in his room. He should not be able to experiment with his powers without our knowledge yet how is he able to use his holy light so fast? During the spars with the exorcists he was able to use his spear of light to fight with a low level exorcist for several minutes, something he should not be able to do. I had ordered the exorcist to kill him and make it look like an accident, but the fool was too weak to finish him off before the other angels called the match off. I could not intervene without showing my desire to dispose of him and that is one thing I cannot allow. They would think I'm falling and that would be inexcusable.

No, I have to get rid of him soon. Tonight I and Aegeriel will end his blasphemous existence. The Brave Saints will succeed, but 578 won't live to see the day it is revealed to the world.

He must not be allowed to survive and tell the world of what happened here.

* * *

Report of Lady Pravel

**Project: **"Brave Saints"

_Subject:_ 578 AKA Hadrian James Potter

_Date_: 2000, June 4

_Stage_: 3

He escaped. We played right into his hands and he used us to escape. The plan was so simple I find myself admiring its effectiveness. He spent almost an entire year making us fall for it and it succeeded splendidly. Not even once did we suspect him of not trying to escape on his own, but instead to wait for us to bring him out ourselves.

I now understand the gleam in his eyes when he was first brought in here. Dumbledore was a fool to consider 578 the typical Gryffindor. He made us think he had a plan to get out. He gave subtle hints that he was about to escape and when Aegeriel and I took him out of his cell to dispose of him; he stabbed a spear into Aegeriel's heart. Aegeriel did not even have time to react before he was coughing up blood. I tried to use my own powers to kill him, but he had used his _wings_ to fly away.

Normally the guards around his cell would have prevented the escape, but I had timed the execution around the time of a change in schedule and delayed the guards with a powerful drug. 578 was able to fly unhindered until the main gate where the sentinels started attacking him. Judging from the blood he spilled, he received several fatal wounds, but no body was found so we must assume he survived. After asking the scientists how he knew we would be taking him out to dispose of him, they told us they had informed him of the protocol of taking him out of the cell and into the courtyard. He was therefore able to anticipate our actions and plan a somewhat rational plan to escape. Another question his escape brought up was how he was able to fly with his wings so easily. After a quick inspection of his cell we were able to discover the reason.

He had carved runes onto the walls of the cell in order to create an illusionary bubble in order to conceal his actions. The illusion activates whenever someone enters the bubble and since we do not enter the cells except in extreme circumstances we would not notice it. We believe the real reason he killed the exorcist and revealed his ability to use light was not to defend himself, but to keep his rune array a secret. The glass we use to observe them does not allow magic to be cast through it and thus we could not pierce the magic with our senses through the glass. We didn't even consider the possibility that he could use runes since most of our test subjects are children below eleven years old and are incapable of magic.

While we lost our most useful subject and we were unable to dispose of him, his escape did reveal his status as a complete angel. In other words we now know our experiments are working and it's all a matter of refining the procedure. We will deal with the rogue subject soon enough. We cannot let him tell anyone important and have our facility shut down. Our very survival as a species is at risk. We must not allow ourselves to show any weaknesses. Tomorrow we begin the refinery of the "Brave Saints". One of our human scientists suggested a possible theory on how to refine it. His name is Valper Galilei and I find his ideas to be most intriguing. Though I'm afraid he'll be transferred to another facility soon. His research here was merely in order to study the holy element for his own field. I am saddened to see such a bright talent leave us, but it is necessary for everyone to follow their own path.

* * *

**_Lady Pravel is hereby exiled from Heaven on the grounds of murder of fellow angels, attempt of murder against a fellow angel, kidnapping, experimentation and murder of 649 children and adults and treason. Should any of Heaven's guardians meet or see her they are to report to the execution squad immediately. _**

**_Under the Authority of Michael, Archangel of Heaven._**


	2. Prison Break

**Well here we are with chapter 2. The responses for chapter 1 were mostly positive with a few exceptions. I figured I would address the issues the reviewers brought up:**

**1: Someone mentioned that everyone who wrote a Xover with HP and a shonen manga made the HP-verse weak in comparison to the other category. I understand your frustration, but let us be realistic. If the wizards from HP were as strong as those from the Highschool DxD-verse Voldemort would have won easily as there is no way Harry would have defeated a Voldemort wielding the powers of a Maou. Also, the culture of HP-verse did not have anything to do with strength. They were focused on blood purity and money, not power. They had no drive to grow stronger, there was no motivation. Instead they went to school to learn magic and they thought it was a nuisance. The most powerful forbidden curse was a curse which killed a single person each time it was cast and it didn't do anything else. In terms of Shonen manga powers, that is not very powerful. It's at the level of the first enemy which is defeated in order to introduce the main character. I have never personally liked the culture in HP. They were dull and didn't have that much to it besides blood purity and money, something HDxD has as well, but it uses those less than actual power and strength. I mean, the Devils have the rating game, what does HP-verse have? Duelling is a joke compared to the rating games and the battles of HP are as well. That is the reason I have chosen to make the wand-wizards so weak in the eyes of the world. Sure, a few of the wizards have power to fight with the low-tier middle-class devils, but those a few and far between.**

**2: One reviewer said he did not want it to turn into a "Power!porn" of all things. First of all, I have no idea what the term power!porn means. I'm guessing it means something about the one who is… powerful has… a lot of sex… or something? Seriously guys, help me out here!**

**3: Harry will NOT join the angels, but he won't go all "Angel genocide" on them because of what happened. Remember; Harry has already seen someone (Voldemort) want to exterminate a species (Muggles) because they let their hatred destroy them. Harry won't make that same mistake. Even Issei knows better, he was killed by a Fallen Angel and he's okay with Akeno and Azazel. Harry will still be part of the alliance, but as an independent factor. Of course he won't join Heaven after what happened, but he'll still be a part of the three factions since he has seen what has happened if you judge everyone from the actions of a few.**

**However, quite a lot of you have been asking me to make him a fallen angel. I'm hesitant to do it since it would be quite easy to make him fall, but I want to keep him as a normal angel as well. The reason is because I want to balance between the factions to be equal. The devils are by far the most powerful right now in canon. The four Maou of which two are super-devils as well as the Evil Pieces give them the most firepower. The fallen angels are said to be the weakest, but they can bolster their forces with the falling of normal angels and by reproducing with humans. Angels don't have the same advantages and their strongest warriors are Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel (add Dulio if you want) so Harry being a normal angel is a way to balance the power struggle and to give his backstory meaning. **

**Although, the people who wanted him to be a fallen angel all posted as a guest and that makes me think it was a single reviewer who wanted him to be a fallen angel. Hopefully that is not the case, but I'm still suspicious…**

**These were the main concerns about the story and I'm not really bothered by them. Hopefully you can understand and come to enjoy what I make of the story.**

**Once again, The HP-world is going to be a minor part of the story, maybe 3-4 chapters so it won't have that much effect on the fanfic. **

**That brings me to the good stuff. What is the colour of Harry's holy light? At first I wanted it to be blue to represent lightning and storms, but when I think about it, Harry has never had that much connection to the colour blue. Instead, the colour he did have the most connection to was green (and black) so in order to make the light fit him I made it a bright emerald. I was searching for a good description when I found the Gachalá Emerald. That is the colour of the spear I'm trying to describe. I'm unfortunately red-green colour-blind so please forgive me if you think the colour is off. As for the shape of the spear, I'm just going to leave it as a straight spear of light which narrows towards the tip. No impressive design whatsoever. I'm also thinking about giving Harry some kind of balance breaker-ish ability even though he doesn't have a sacred gear. Ah well, we'll see…**

**Another thing a reviewer posted was if Harry will gain an armour like Imperius (From Diablo I presume) and the answer is no. Harry will get some kind of armour, but it won't be the large and cumbersome type like imperius and scalemail. I've never been able to appreciate those kinds of power armours and I thought they were too much of a hassle to write. Instead Harry will wear something a lot more subtle, if armour could be subtle. You'll see what I mean.**

**Also I have forgotten to mention one of the reason I started this fanfic. Silly me!**

**When I first read HDxD I noticed that among the three factions the most powerful individuals belonged to the devils. Sirzechs Lucifer, Ajuka Beelzebub and Rizevim Lucifer. The so-called Super-devils. In fact the author said these people had a place among the Top Ten strongest beings in the world. So what about the fallen angels and angels then? Michael and Azazel should also be close to it shouldn't they? But they aren't mentioned and Hades is mentioned to be stronger than Azazel as well as one of the strongest beings in the world. So the other two factions (Heaven and Grigori) are severely outgunned, especially Heaven since they risk losing angels to Grigori as well. So what if the angels had another reincarnated angel who could fight against a god? Would this change anything? **

**Well, I'm going to keep most of the storyline the same as canon. Until we know what Rizevim is planning I can't spin away from the plot too much. Although does not mean I'm just going to copy-paste the plot from HDxD. I'm going to change a few things and have them impact the story immensely. I do hope you'll enjoy the ride. And I won't make Harry curbstomp every single enemy he fights. He'll evolve during the course of the story, but he'll be one of the stronger of DxD.**

**Also I'm basing the Top Ten on what the author wrote in Volume 13. Although he said it was in no particular order I found it easier to just take it as he wrote it.**

**If you do find any errors or impossibilities, do let me know. The only thing I did make up and was unable to verify was the wild potato-part. I have no idea if you can find wild potatoes in Scotland, but I do know that in some parts of Sweden you can find them due to incompetent farmers who didn't tend to their crops very well. I'm basing my wild potato-theory on that.**

**One last thing! This is the largest chapter I've ever written! The final count of this chapter was 28 pages and 17,500 words. I'm quite proud of it and I'm aiming to write an even longer chapter next time. The length I'm aiming for on average on all of my stories is around 50 pages so the updates won't be the quickest and I'm trying to improve my writing at the same time.**

* * *

**The Wings of Storms**

The moment Harry stabbed the other angel in the chest he knew there was no turning back. Until now he could have convinced himself that they could have released him when he finished the angel transformation. Up until this point he could have fooled himself into believing they would let him go when they finished the tests. Even if he stopped his plan of getting them to execute him in order for him to escape, he would have a chance for freedom. Up until this point that is…

Now he was past the point of no return. There was no turning back, no retries. There was only moving forward, anything else meant death or worse. Watching Pravel call upon at least a several spears made of light, he manoeuvred so that his body was as small a target he could make it while still keeping his eyes on the hostile angel. Just as he predicted, all of her spears were aimed at a single point: his chest.

It wasn't her fault really. When he hunted Death Eaters he was used to fighting a large variety of enemies, anything from a rookie to a veteran. Pravel was a scientist, not a soldier. She might have the power of an angel, but Harry's experience on the battlefield surpassed hers, despite her claims at being thousands of years old. A warrior accustomed to combat would not fire all of his attacks on a single target. He would fire the majority in the centre while keeping several around it so that even if the opponent dodges the first wave, the second would at least have a chance to wound him. Pravel had not known this fact so when Harry dodged the dozen-or-so spears meant to impale him she was too shocked to summon another volley. This gave Harry the opportunity to unfurl his wings and fly away into the multitude of corridors and hallways.

His heart was beating, pumping the blood he so desperately needed through his veins and supplying his muscles with oxygen. The white halls of the facility seemed like a maze and even though he had spent months going over the map, it was one thing to see it in someone's mind and another to actually go there. Each corridor was identical to the last and the doors gave no indication as to where he was except for a large letter and number on the right side of the door. He was currently in hallway 4H and he needed to get to 7C. 7C had an exit to the main gates and from there he could escape without worries. Piece a cake!

Some might wonder how he had come upon the layout of the facility if he was a prisoner himself, but it was actually quite simple. They had underestimated him. They had seen Dumbledore, the so-called greatest wizard of all time and seen how weak he was and how he was an old man. Then they compared him to Harry, a boy younger than twenty years old and seeing how they were used to children younger than eleven years old, they had no idea he could use Legilimency. Of course, Legilimency was next to useless on angels it seemed. Angels had natural mind barriers which deflected most of his attempts to read their minds, but it seemed they did not notice it if the user was subtle and quick. The barriers were natural and something as weak as a mind probe wouldn't even be noticed, only deflected.

The only reason Harry had succeeded was because he had used the subtle version of it. He only used it when he had eye contact with an angel and never used it longer than three seconds. Since they thought he was a weak human, his weak and pathetically small probe wasn't detected by their minds and he was able to slip inside their heads for small amounts of time. Had they noticed him they would have raised their barriers and he might as well have tried to smash concrete walls with a tooth pick than to try to read the mind of an angel who was on guard.

So after months of probing an angel's mind for the way out, at last he had a somewhat functional map. He had scratched out the map onto the wall of his room and tried to memorize it, but it was a lot harder than it looked on TV. Thankfully he did not have to run through the facility. He had spent a year inside a small cell with about as large as a small van. Even if he had been working out using his environment, he knew his stamina had taken a deep dive since he was free. Not only that, running would have been slower than flying and he was running out of time, pardon the pun.

He wondered if he could make a movie script about his escape. "Laboratory Escape" had a certain charm, but he needed something better.

Snapping back to reality, he was flying his way out, using his new wings to the fullest. A pair of pure white wings was slowly beating in order to keep him afloat in the air. While he hated what they had done to him and how they did it to him, he had to admit the wings were one of the few things he could use in escaping. He had seen angels fly past him and it appeared that flying was the main mode of transportation in the large hospital-like building. It certainly beat walking.

Opening a door, he saw a large sign which said 7C. Excitement filled his entire body and he was speeding towards the large pair of doors. There weren't any angels in the hallways and he knew the main gates were just a hundred metres away from the door. With his new wings he could make that kind of distance in five seconds. When he reached the doors he didn't bother pulling the doorknob; he kicked the doors open and flew out.

Fresh air filled his lungs and he was shocked by the smell of it. It smelled like summer rain and pine trees. Something cold landed on his cheek and he stopped, wondering what it was. Hovering in mid-air, he reached a hand towards the spot where the cold thing had touched him. Suddenly he was hit by more cold things. Noticing his clothes were getting wetter and colder, he realized he was standing in the rain. He hadn't noticed the water pouring down from the sky; he had been too busy focusing on his escape.

Feeling the cool shower flowing from his hair down his face was a hundred times better than the sanitation sprays in the facility. The smells which he had missed for over a year assaulted his nose and had to take several slow breaths to calm his heart and to stop the coughing his lungs started the moment fresh air invaded his respiratory organs.

Fresh air, rain and a view other than that damnable glass mirror. It was already looking like his freedom was the hassle he went through to escape. The wind blew and the rain started hitting him in the back and he wondered if it would be hard to fly if his wings got wet. He looked back and his pure white wings which seemed to radiate light were as dry as they had been inside. Did the wings have some kind of magical resistance to water or was it just impossible for them to get wet? Either way, he was grateful for i…

Thunk* Thunk* Thunk*

He paid for his lack of attention when three spears made from yellow, pink and violet light fell from the sky and struck his torso and abdomen. Pain rocked his body as he felt his organs be demolished by the weapons forged from holy energy. He tried breathing, but all he could do was cough as the pink spear had punctured his left lung. The violet one had penetrated his belly and the gastric acid was spilling over the wound, giving the already painful wound into a burning sensation. The yellow spear had been a lucky shot. It had collided with the violet one and sent off course. It had impacted on his kidney and had completely destroyed the tender organ, leaving it as little more than a pulp of flesh.

During the war, he had been hit by several organ-rupturing curses as it had been easy to use and both painful and deadly. It meant he had a high pain threshold when it came to internal damage. This pain however was enough to make him lose balance in the air and he tumbled to the ground. He hit the gravel hard and if the spears had not shattered into particles of light before the landing he was sure they would have sliced him up even more than they already had. Twisting his body so he could see who had attacked, him he saw three angels sitting on the roof of the immensely tall building above him. Upon seeing the three of them prepare another volley of spears and thinking it might not be the greatest of ideas to let them hit him again, he pushed off the ground and let his wings take him into the air.

These angels weren't scientists like Pravel. The fact that they had succeeded in striking him in vital organs despite him being over three hundred metres away from them meant they had practice and experience behind them. Even if he had a wand he could have made that kind of shot maybe three times out of ten and every single one of them had done it on the first try. These people were soldiers, and experienced ones at that.

And they all had two pairs of wings each.

Harry sped towards the gate, rising slowly in order to reach the edge of the wall it was connected to. Casting a quick wandless blood-stopping spell that would prevent him from bleeding out before he could shake them off, he could feel a numbing sensation where his kidney had been before. It seemed his regeneration spell was trying to stop the flow of blood as well. Thank God for Madame Pomfrey teaching him that piece of healing magic and even insisting he learn how to cast it without a wand. Even if the results were less than perfect due to not using a wand with the spell, it was better than letting his lung, stomach and kidney fall apart and decay. Had Poppy been the one to cast it he couldn't even have been able to tell if he had been stabbed at all. Instead all he could do was patch his lung and belly up for the time being. It wouldn't hold for more than a few days, but it should get him fit enough to escape this blasted facility.

The entire building was surrounded by a large white wall about a hundred metres high and had wards similar to Hogwarts. He had learnt from the memories of the angels that the gate was meant for the exorcists and scientists who could not fly, but Harry did not have time to waste on a useless piece of metal. He had flown higher on a broom, but flying high left you defenceless with zero cover to hide behind. A lesson you learn quickly when playing quidditch and the slytherin team sends their beaters to take you out.

The angels were firing spear after spear at him now and they were closing in. He used his reflexes to dodge, but the closer they came the less time he had to dodge. He had less than twenty metres now, but they were close enough that he had to use a spear in order to block and deflect the spears raining down on him. One spear in particular was coming increasingly close to hitting him each time it was thrown. The pink spear thrown by the tall woman had on several occasions nicked him and she had been the one to puncture his lung, missing his heart by centimetres. She was most likely the most experienced of them all and he doubted he would survive a fight in close combat if he let her get close. Although he doubted he would survive any kind of fight against any of them considering he was already bleeding out and he needed medical attention quick.

Thankfully he had started with a large gap between them and him and so he reached the edge of the wall before they did. The woman was closing in quickly though and he didn't fancy his chances if he stayed any longer. Twisting his body, he started diving down the wall in an attempt to increase in velocity. They had more experience in flying with wings so he needed to something to use as an advantage. Flying with wings was a lot different than flying on a broom, but both relied on manipulating the winds in order to maintain and increase in speed it seemed. Just as he was about to initiate his dive, a pink spear pierced his thigh and slice his thighbone apart.

"_That Bitch!"_ Harry thought as he threw a spear of his own at her. Harry's spear, a bright emerald green, was not aimed as well as his opponent's and it was not thrown nearly as swift or hard enough to actually hit them, but it did serve well enough as a distraction to force them to take their eyes off him in order to dodge it. When their attention was focused on him once more, he had already disappeared down the edge.

Anyone who has skydived can tell you air has substance. You won't notice it when you're walking and there is hardly any wind, but when you're freefalling and making your body as small as possible to decrease wind resistance, you will feel the air being pushed back as you shoot past everything around you. Harry could feel the air trying to rip his face apart as he accelerated on his way down. For a moment he could see the raindrops fall with him and it looked as if they were standing still in the air, not hindered by gravity as if to say `Hi! How you Doin'?´. The moment was over in an instant before he was accelerating even further and leaving them to eat his metaphorical dust.

He had missed this! By God, he had missed this! Flying, or falling, was such an addictive feeling. To feel the wind in your face, to get that feeling of zero gravity, to manipulate your body into angles the human body is not used to bending just to avoid the wrong wind or to catch the right one. Even if his organs were destroyed and his leg little more than useless, flying was one thing he could never hate. That is the only thing Harry would ever think he might consider worth the whole experience. To gain wings.

As he was nearing the ground he spread his new pair of limbs and instead of crashing into the unforgiving rock which was the ground, he instead flew parallel to it, escaping death by inches. Using the speed he had gained from the dive, he propelled himself like a bullet into the forest, hoping that the storm brewing above heads and the trees he was flying under would cover his tracks from the pursuing angels. He had never seen pine forests this large before so he was hoping the abnormally large vegetation would hide his wingspan. One of the reasons he could not simply hide in the open was because his clothes did not suit for camouflage. White Scrubs and large white wings did not blend in with green and brown of the nature around him, but if the canopy was able to cover him he had no need for hiding. He could disappear from their view while escaping, something he considered to be an excellent idea. Pravel would not let him escape without putting up a fight. By now she should have alerted the guards of his escape and the three pursuing him would soon have reinforcements coming to aid them.

In other words, he had to leave quickly. Twisting and turning in order to avoid the multitude of branches passing him by, he continued flying for several minutes. Several minutes turned into ten. Ten became twenty. Twenty became thirty. Thirty became sixty.

The longer he flew, the further away he would get. The further away from them, the safer he would be. That was good, if he could put some distance between them and him then…

Slam*

Ow!

Okay, if you are flying at topspeed in a densely grown forest, please pay attention to where you are flying. Trying to make plans at the same time will get you nothing, but a branch slammed into your face.

As Harry was experiencing, flying in a forest required quick reflexes and focus. While Harry had reflexes to do it, at the moment he was lacking in focus, most likely because he had been flying nonstop for an hour now and he was becoming tired. So the branch which was about as thick as his arm had slammed into his face and, judging by the blood seeping out, had broken his nose. The sudden stop in motion had taken the breath out of him and sent him flailing to the ground. He laid there for several minutes, groaning and moaning. The rain which had been a summer's shower until now, intensified and he had to cover his face so that the hail didn't strike his face.

_`Bloody hell… what am I doing here? Why am I escaping from angels of all things? I thought they were the good guys, the ones who fought against the evil and all that. You'd think I'd be on their good side after all I took out Riddle, but nope, they used me in their fucking experiments and thought it was their right to do it!´_ is what he thought as he laid there on the ground. The distant rumbling of thunder alerted him of the storm above him and the need for shelter.

Rolling over, he grimaced at the pain he felt. The regeneration spell was one of the few medical ones he had learnt outside of the auror training and it had been the one he kept active at all times during his imprisonment. Had he not used it during the experimentation he might have died from the more… violent… reactions. He had activated it the moment he stabbed the angel with Pravel and he was glad he did, since it was not capable of healing injuries caused before the spell was used. What it did was not pure regeneration, but more of a quick fix until the natural healing could be applied. It created a magical copy of the organ or the missing piece of the organ which imitated the flesh. When the body healed itself, the natural healing would see the copy as a wound and heal it, therefore re-creating the organ all by itself. It did a few other things as well; speed up the metabolism, increase the blood cell-count and aid the body in cleansing poisons, but those were peripheral abilities. What he required was the immediate effect. It did however require the patient to rest for the duration of the recovery, so in the field it was more of a patchwork than actual regeneration.

During his flight and crash he had strained the spell far too much for it to work properly so it was trying to rectify the situation, by using his body's fat and muscle reserves to recreate those organs on the spot. This wouldn't have been so dangerous to the average wizard, but Harry had always been scrawny despite his training in the auror program and his stay at La casa de Pravel had not changed that fact. If the spell took the muscles he needed in order to breathe he might be in trouble. He needed to find some place to rest while the spell ran its course or he might die from the strain from it.

Using what little wandless magic he could, he chopped down several pine trees in order to create a shelter while digging holes in the ground to set the logs in. Slicing some logs into planks, he made the floor after stabbing the logs in the holes to make it slightly more stable in the face of the storm. He then charmed the walls to stick together even in the harshest of weathers. The last place he built was the roof which he made from the last planks and enchanted it to be transparent; he needed to know if the angels were approaching and if he timed it he could kill one of them in a surprise attack.

Having finished his shelter, he entered the tiny cottage he had constructed in less than two minutes and started walking towards the makeshift bed of leafs…

…only to promptly collapse on the floor.

* * *

**The Wings of Storms**

_24 hours later…_

"Lady Pravel, the Sentinels have returned!" Sahariel, her right hand man after Aegeriel, exclaimed after he opened the door. Sahariel was a young angel, created by The Lord just weeks before the final battle against the Maous and the Two-Heavenly Dragons. He was the second youngest of all angels, yet he had a drive unlike any other of his age. Pravel had recruited him personally after the start of the Brave Saints-project. He had been the one to drug the guards and lure the exorcists away from the cell. Among the angels under her command, Sahariel was her most loyal and the only reason she had brought Aegeriel was because for all his eagerness and loyalty, Sahariel was innocent. He could not understand the need for killing apart for in war. Sure, he understood the need for the experiments, but he could not grasp the danger 578 presented. They had just broken through one of their projects largest obstacles and 578 could make decades of hard work useless just by existing and alerting other angels of his existence. Had Sahariel joined them in disposing the subject he would have risked falling as his consciousness wouldn't allow him to stand by and do nothing. Yet if Sahariel had been there to help them against the surprise attack of 578 and Aegeriel might have still been alive.

"What? Where are they? Did they kill him? Or did they capture him?" Pravel asked her subordinate in quick succession, eager to hear his answer. She had not needed to ask him however, as three angels, all possessing two pair of wings, entered the room after him.

The one in the front was a tall buxom woman, easily five inches taller than her male companions and her blue eyes were hard and cold. She did not seem injured, but her black hair was wet and her outfit was dripping water, creating a puddle where she stood. Her companions were like her, soaked to the bone and the one on the left even shivered a little. The storm seemed to have taken its toll on the sentinels as the look of frustration and anger on their faces spoke of volumes of their lack of patience.

"Pravel!" the woman said. There was a large amount of irritation in her voice and Pravel knew she had to tread carefully. Pravel might have the higher status among them in terms of pure authority, but a two-winged angel always knew better than to anger a four-winged one.

"Yes, Kassel, is something the matter?" Kassel had been the one in charge of security of the facility and she had been aware of the experiments taking place within its walls. That did not mean she had been aware of all the details though. 578 had been a blacklist project so Kassel had only received a highly edited and censured version of the final report. Now she had seen 578 fly using _Angel_ wings and most likely use _Angel_ weapons. If she wanted to leave this room alive she would have to think fast.

"In fact there is, Pravel. Last time I checked, 578 had barely shown traces of angel abilities and now I find him flying around with a pair of wings and using light-spears, something which takes weeks, if not months, to learn. So tell me Pravel, why did he manage to escape his cell?" Kassel's eyes had narrowed and a vein was throbbing in her neck now. Her companions had noticed this and were taking a step back in case she did something she might not regret.

"I… I was unaware of how advanced his abilities were. We know he used rune-magic to conceal his movements and to spy on the doctors. Worst case scenario; we might have a traitor in our midst." There! She wasn't lying when she said she did not know how far along in the angelization he was and it turned out that after a brief inspection of his cell that he did indeed use magic to create an illusionary field of some sort. A crude, unstable and very rough rune array, but seems to have served its purpose well enough. If she wasn't so mad at the loss of her friend and her possible demise, she would have been impressed at his ingenuity under such circumstances. Now, all she felt was murderous rage and fear.

Kassel pondered for a moment, reassessing the situation and analysing the information she received. The anger was still present in her eyes, but it was not the explosive kind she had feared, but the calculating one when she got when she had lost a game and wanted a rematch. Good, it seemed the explanation had appeased her enough.

"I see. Regardless, we cannot find him now. The rain has washed away his tracks and the wind is strong enough to blow us off course. We shall stay here and call off the search for tonight, we'll commence once the storm has stopped. Until then we will gather the exorcists and angels and prepare them for the hunt. If we cannot move in the storm then neither can he, his injuries are too severe and he must rest if he wants to survive. I wouldn't be too surprised if he isn't dead already." She told her subordinates to prepare for the hunt and then turned to Pravel once more.

"In case we don't find him and he is alive, there is a chance he might inform the Seraphs of our work here. If they find this facility then the evidence would condemn us all. I want you and your scientists to gather all the research and data you have and to transport it to a safe location. If we return and we don't have his body or proof that he died, I want you to eliminate all the subjects you have left and to destroy this facility. I want no evidence to survive this disaster." She then turned around and walked away, water still pouring down her clothes.

Pravel had to lean against the wall after Kassel closed the door. Her heart was pounding and she could feel sweat running down her brow. Had Kassel thought she was responsible for his escape, she doubted she would have had time to scream before Kassel's spear silenced her. Fortunately, it seemed as if The Lord was smiling at her. He had deemed her worthy of a second chance and she was determined not to let Him down again. Kassel's order was both a blessing and a curse. She had survived and been allowed to continue her work. On the other hand, she might have to dispose of all her subjects who were the majority of her research. If she lost them then she would have to start over in terms of material. The data she had compiled over the years were stored in a data bank in heaven and it wouldn't be too hard to bring it to the new facility, but she would require more humans for experimentation. Dumbledore had just dropped off the latest shipment and she would need more than usual since she would require a larger source to work on.

Looks like Albus would have to work extra this year.

"Sahariel." She said. Her right hand man moved closer.

"Yes, my lady."

"Activate protocol "Sodom". There won't even be ashes left once we're done here."

Sahariel hesitated when he heard the command, but he did not voice his objection. Instead he only lowered his head in acceptance.

"Of course, my lady."

He then left the room, leaving Pravel alone with her thoughts.

Feeling the lack of sleep catch up to her, she took a seat in her chair behind her desk. A sigh escaped her lips and the stress from the last couple of weeks showed their effects. She closed her eyes and thought about everything she'd been through since she started working on the project.

The Brave Saints had been her greatest desire since she discovered her Lord had died. She had put her faith in the new Christian God, Michael, but even though he was able to activate the System, he was still unable to create angels the usual way. So Heaven was gradually weakening in strength from having its angels killed or turned into fallen angels. The few angels born from the Holy Birth were nowhere near enough to bring them back to strength. They were still stronger than Grigori and comparable to the Devils, but if they did not break the balance between them soon the Devils would grow too powerful and declare war on both Grigori and Heaven. The only way to survive such a war would be to ally themselves with each other or with other religions, something which would be inexcusable for God's angels to do.

So she had dedicated herself to discovering the key to creating angels, something she soon realized would have been impossible for them. To create something on the level of angels would require something higher than an angel and the only being in heaven which fit that description was Michael and maybe Gabriel. They were however too busy operating the System and protecting heaven's interests to aid her in her research and her proposals were dismissed. Never one to be deterred, Pravel came up with a different plan: what if you could elevate a human to an angel? One of the New Maou had created something called an Evil Piece and it could reincarnate something into a devil. An ingenious invention which had bolstered their forces back to a somewhat capable force and it was something Pravel wanted to create for Heaven. If only she could do that then she would be praised for her skills and the fools who had laughed at her would have to apologize for their words.

Only she couldn't create something like that, despite working on it for centuries. Setback after setback, failure after failure, she soon lost interest in her original goal of saving Heaven and instead focused on solving the puzzle which was her new project; the Brave Saints. How could the devils make something so complex that it altered their entire physical and spiritual composition? And why could the angels not copy the procedure if something so low as a devil could do it? Angels were superior to devils and fallen angels in all aspects so why could she, an angel created by The Lord, not recreate the process a devil had invented?

Was it because devils were a simpler and more primitive species? It was a possible explanation. Angels had been created by The Lord and were the very epitome of superiority. Devils had been created by Lucifer and his fellow Maou. Lucifer himself had been an angel once and it was a reasonable guess that he would not be able to create a being capable of standing on the same ground as himself. Just like the angels were inferior to The Lord, the devils should be inferior to Lucifer. So it should have been easier for the new Maou, Ajuka, to create those little chess pieces he is so proud of.

But Pravel had not even been able to figure out how those worked! If she could not understand how they could create devils, how could she create angels? It was unlike any piece of devil technology seen before. It did not follow any known formula, calculation or study the devils had been known to use and it baffled her experts in demonology and mathematics. There had to be a constant in their Evil Pieces and the technology demons had previously used. It's unfathomable to think that the greatest invention the devils have was crafted from an entirely new system. No, even if the devils disguised the origin of the Evil Pieces, they could not erase the connection altogether. Some factor must be common in both the humans they sought to reincarnate and the evil pieces they used to convert them. All they had to do was to find it and use it to their own benefit.

And they had. Eventually they had discovered the common ground between the devils and humans and had modelled their own experiments accordingly. What they discovered was nothing, but the familiar taste of failure.

They had used the soul to facilitate the transformation and used the demonic essence found in the blood to convert them, but the same factor would not work for angelization. For one, the holy light contained in the body of angels was poisonous to humans while the demonic powers of devils were not. The entire theory of using the same process of conversion was less than useless, it had been a distraction! That damned Ajuka had intentionally used such a simple way to hide the common factor that they had thought it was the only thing they needed to succeed. Instead what they got was a bitter feeling of loss and defeat. If they wanted to continue the research then they would have to start over from scratch, something Pravel and her companions were unwilling to do considering the centuries worth of effort they had poured into the project.

In the end, they had gone back to the theoretical stage, trading thoughts and ideas back and forth in a final effort to save their species. But everyone knew, even as they discussed and contemplated, that they would fail in imitating their Lord's achievements. All they did was make it look like they still had the will to continue, even as their lifelong comrades lost their halos and their wings turned black in despair and frustration. Everyone thought; _`What's the point in even trying? We will never create an angel, even if we work for a thousand years!´_ and they fell, joining Grigori in an attempt to forget their failures by drowning themselves in lust and greed. Even those who remained knew it was just a matter of time before they joined their former comrades in depravity. They could praise God and preach what they had been taught, but they knew the feeling inside them was neither love nor respect for Michael, but jealousy and contempt.

_`Why should Michael be the one to rule heaven and order us around? He's just an angel like the rest of us yet he acts as if he has the right to be God.´_ Slowly, but surely the angels around her fell and her comrades dwindled down from a hundred to eighty. From eighty to fifty and from fifty to thirty. Now with Aegeriel dead, she had less than fifteen angels in her project and that includes Kassel and her subordinates. How could this have happened? They had started the Brave Saints-project filled with thoughts of worship and mission and the result they showed was the opposite. Was this the limit of their faith?

Then they found _Him_. A boy, a brat, not even an adult in human eyes and he was able to rekindle the flame in their hearts. The research they conducted on him taught them things they had not known about humans and even themselves. In a single year her friends had shown more spirit than in the last hundred years. The atmosphere in the labs, the expressions on her comrades' faces and the warmth in her chest every time she thought about the future of angels, it was all thanks to the boy called subject 578. Not her own leadership or talent, just the coincidence of gaining the right material. Was this how it felt to be inadequate? Was this how Michael felt after replacing God?

His ability to survive the angelization and to invigorate her subordinates aside, there was also his mysterious connection to Samael. How had a child less than twenty years been able to contact an angel sealed deep within the underworld and even more so, how had the fallen been able to affect the boy's magical core, something incredibly fragile and vital to a wizard, enough to make it resemble an angel without killing him? Samael had been a powerful angel before his fall, closer to Michael and Azazel than to his fellow ten-winged angels. In fact he had been very close to God during his time as an angel, not as a soldier, but as a punisher. He accused the humans and tested them, sometimes going too far as his test of Eve could show you. In Samael's mind, the humans were weak and pathetic, not worthy of the blessings of the Lord. So he was appointed as the accuser after Lucifer's fall and he immediately went out to terrorize he humans and had it not been for the rules God had given him, he would have massacred the humans immediately. If he failed to show that the humans he accused was as corrupted as he claimed then he had go give the human a boon. A gift, similar to the gift the defeated would grant the victor, Samael had to acquire himself. Had subject 578 been one such victor? Had the partial angelization been the gift Samael gave to the victor of the game of accusations? It could be… only that brought up another question:

…how could Samael know how to ascend a human to the status of an angel? Especially if he was a fallen one…

* * *

**The Wings of Storms**

"_Why must you be so persistent?" His brother said as they walked. They were walking in the halls of Remembrance, the pictures of saints who had listened to the call of The Lord covering the walls. It made him sick, that humans would be so honoured as to have a place dedicated to them in heaven. Preposterous! He walked faster, in order to get away from the paintings of the humans and in order to get away from his brother's lecture._

"_I'm not the one who's persistent, Michael! Can't you see? I'm the only one who's not pathetically grovelling at the feet of humans simply because I was told to. Why should we? Give me one reason!" he told his elder brother. _

_Michael kept the pace his sibling was setting and responded in a calm manner. "We are not grovelling, Samael. Why would you think loving humans is the same as bowing down to them? Our followers are the followers of our Father and as such they must be loved and cared for just as much as our fellow angels. Can you not see they need our guidance just as much as we do?" Michael told him, still in that aggravating tone. _

_Did he think he was talking to a child? He was Samael, the angel of death! One of God's greatest swords and he did not think he knew what he was doing? He was using that irritating persona to make him look like a fool, to make him look bad in the face of their father!_

"_Don't make it look like they are innocent of sin, Michael. Have you seen them? Don't you remember Sodom? Don't you remember Gomorrah? I do, I was there. I was the one to burn the cities to dust. I saw their filthy desires and vices. I saw what was truly in their hearts, not what they try to distract us with. These pigs don't know anything about our lord; they just praise him because they want to reach heaven out of greed, not true worship. If you had opened your eyes to the truth, you would not stop me, brother, but you would help me convince Father what must be done." He said. If you listened carefully you could hear the pleading in his voice, the fear of rejection._

_Michael shook his head and focused his gaze on his little brother. "No, Samael. What you say is not the truth, but your own wish for it to be. Your time as the Angel of Death has jaded you, and I fear what will happen if you do get your wish to be the Angel of Judgement. Just remember, Samael, What happened to the last Accuser. There is a reason why that seat has been empty all these years."_

_Samael jerked back, as if physically struck and gaped at Michael. His brother, the greatest of angels had not only rejected him, but compared him to.. to.. to Him! No, no, nonononononononono, NO! This is not what would happen, this is not how it was supposed to happen! He mentioned him, he only does that when he's serious._

"_You… you think I will be like Him? How dare you? I have served Father faithfully for thousands of years, I have protected Heaven against the forces of Hell countless times and you think I will end up like He did? He was weak; he could not handle the responsibility that came with being the Angel of Judgement, but I will. Death and Judgement have always gone hand-in-hand, but he and I could never see eye-to-eye. He deserved what he got for falling like that, but I won't!" He almost screamed and the few angels in the vicinity stopped whatever they were doing in order to observe the pair of brothers. _

_Michael took Samael's pause to respond. "There has never been an angel to hold two seats and there should never be one. If you feel you must, go to Father and ask for the seat of Judgement. I will ask him to give you a chance. If he feels you are ready to be the Accuser when the trial period is over than I was wrong, but please remember Samael…" he turned in order to walk away before he resumed._

"_Nothing good will ever come out of malice towards humans. There is darkness in you, Samael. I hope you will find love for the humans before the hate destroys you." And then he left, walking towards the Throne of God with his golden wings spread out. _

_Samael just stood there, not noticing the tips of his feathers shifting to a shade of grey before reverting back to the pristine white they had been a second earlier._

* * *

**The Wings of Storms**

Uncomfortable.

That was Harry's first thought as he woke up. Why would he be feeling uncomfortable? There hadn't been any tests the day before so all his organs and bones should be in perfect order. There weren't any examinations either so the scanner shouldn't have turned his nervous system into a violin being played by an unskilled musician. There wasn't any logical explanation as to why he should be feeling like his face had taken more hits than Rocky Balboa had in Rocky 1, 2, 3 and 4 either.

Cracking his eyes open, he was surprised by the difficulty in simply opening his eyes. It was a battle to open them at all and the small pain under his eyebrows told him it might be something he needed to investigate.

The first thing he noticed was the room he was in. It was not his cell. Why was he not in his cell? Had he been transferred to another wing? No, that can't be it. He had been to several wings over the last year, but all of them had the same design. Marble white walls, floor and ceiling. He had never seen a single room or cell which did not make him think every single angel was unable to see any colour except white. The walls in this room however were made from some sort light wood which hadn't been treated yet and unlike the cells Pravel had given him; it did not make him think of sterilization. Which was puzzling seeing he had no memory of ever being moved to such a room.

Deciding that it was about time for him to get up, he heaved himself up from the floor, an act which made his muscles scream in protest. He let out a grunt at the pain, but continued on his quest to get off the floor. Almost there, just a little more…

_`There! Ha, look at that, you lazy muscles! I didn't need your help after all. I could get up all on my ow… Why is the room tilting?_ ´ He thought.

Bam*

Anger and frustration entered his mind. Anger at being on the floor when he had struggled so hard to get up and frustration at his body for being so weak. Why was he feeling like this? He should be in perfect condition, despite his incarceration in the hellhole Pravel called facility. Why did his body feel like someone had put it in the grinder, scooped up the mincemeat, shaped it like play-doh into the human shape he currently had and proceeded to kick his head for good measure?

Attempting to once again get up off the floor, he decided to crawl to the wall this time before he tried to stand up. Having got a good hold on the wall due to its rough texture, he was able to get back up on his feet, only to look up…

And get a look at the sky through the ceiling…

He was in a forest…

A forest…

How did he get into a forest?

Better yet, why was he in a forest?

Shaking his head, he tried to make sense of the situation. His body hurt like hell, his mind was a mess, he was in a forest, the room he was in had a ceiling enchanted with magic and he could not remember being escorted out of his cell by an angel. Which meant he…

He…

He…

He had…

Escaped…?

The thought passed through his head and the noise which had tormented his skull the last few minutes lifted for a fleeting moment as he registered the meaning of the words which had appeared in his mind. Head he escaped? But when? And how? So many questions…

Thinking back, hadn't his plan to escape involved something about tricking the angels? Tricking the angels? That's right, and when they took him out he would…

His eyes widened as the memory of stabbing and angel in the heart appeared. He had stabbed an angel! And he had escaped afterwards! Memory after memory flooded back like a wave and soon the tidal wave appeared. He had lost the angels pursuing him and he had built the tiny cottage which he had awoken in.

The pain radiating in his body temporarily forgotten, he let out a loud laugh at the situation. He as free! No more tests, no more examinations, and best of all, no more bloody Pravel to talk to every single day! All he was missing was a cocktail and it could be a pretty good vacation. The laughter eventually turned into coughing as the pain returned, now focused in his lungs.

_`Damn, forgot about the lungs. How long have I been out? I'm thirsty as hell and starving too, did the spell keep me knocked out the entire time I was healing?´_ That was not good. Definitely not good. The spell he used could take weeks to heal something and he did not have that kind of time. He was an hour (sort of) away from the fortress Pravel and her angels were guarding, and an hour was too close for his liking. He had to leave now, or he would…

Bam*

Fall to the floor because his muscles refused to listen to him. Great, just great! Crippled, tired, starving _and _in enemy territory; just like back in school again!

_`How many times am I going to find myself in these situations? I mean, I've already given up hope on having a normal life, but why does my life have to be at the most extreme end of abnormal spectrum? Granted, it might be divine retribution for killing an angel, but they started it!´_ he thought with irritation. Was there some kind of tradition among gods to terrorize scrawny kids with scars on their faces? Or was that part optional among mythologies? Maybe it was just weekend entertainment, like cartoons on Saturdays?

Shaking his head clear of such thoughts, he staggered back up and reached for the door. If he wanted to get away from this place he would need to get his strength back up and he needed to do it fast. The angels were going to find him sooner or later. He was just hoping it was later.

…he was also hoping he didn't just jinx himself.

Contrary to popular belief, Harry Potter had not lived an easy life before Hogwarts. In fact, it had been a miserable existence and any doctor, social worker and even common man could tell you it was below human standard in even third world countries. Sure he never had to deal with prostitution or drugs, like in certain countries, but his misery was just the same misery. Being locked out of the house for several nights in a row, being starved and beaten as well as having limited access to things as basic as running water and soap for good hygiene. That had been his life before his eleventh birthday and even though it had been almost nine years since he had lived under such harsh conditions, he could still remember how he survived the first eleven years of his life.

When he was hungry, he would catch fish from a lake nearby and he would find berries and wild fruits which were edible, though sour and disgusting. If he wanted to clean up, he would swim in the lake or boil the water in an old pan he had found. He could use an old tarp or similar fabric to make a tent or covers if he had to sleep outside and the fire he had made using an old lighter could keep the wild animals away. Such basic tactics had ensured his survival for the first decade of his life and it appeared that it would save his skin once more, only this time he had the help of magic.

The large pine forest he was in did not look to have a lot in terms of edible fauna and flora, but that was only at first glance. If one knew what to look for, he could find a multitude of dishes he could make from the scarce offerings of whatever forest he was in. Upon finding a lake, he tried to create a fishing pole with a thread of his shirt and his light spear, only for the spear to cut the thread when he tried to tie it together. He then felt like slapping himself as he realized he could just throw the spear at the fish swimming by, the unnatural sharpness of the spear skewering the salmon he wanted for dinner perfectly. He collected pine needles to make tea and he used what little energy he had to conjure up a pot to boil water with. He had to use the toxin-detection charm (one of the good things that came out of camping with Ron and Hermione for an entire year was he had to learn how to find food in the wild and judge if it was poisonous) several times on some mushrooms and some kind of wild potato to see if he could eat them. The end result was a nutritious, but tasteless meal, one he knew he'd be making several times if the rumble in his stomach and lack of muscles were any indication.

Having caught and eaten three salmons (at least he hoped they were salmons) and about to start on his fourth, he thought about his options. The forest he was in granted him perfect camouflage and the only places you could see through the thick canopy were clearings or the edges of the forest. So if the angels pursuing him wanted to find him then they would have to search by foot, unlike Harry who could fly through the forest at speeds only matched by cars and motorcycles. They were also undermanned and ill equipped for a search of a forest this size. Each mile they covered opened up even more territory to search through. They could not let him slip through their net so each part of the forest would have to be painstakingly investigated, slowing them down even further. The storm above them was the final help Harry could think of.

The storm in question had covered his tracks from the angels during his initial escape. The wind had been too hard to fly in and the rain had washed away the blood so they shouldn't have been able to follow him at all if the storm had intensified like it had. Even if they had two pairs of wings, he doubted they would have fared better in the storm than Harry would have on a broom. He also knew they had not tried searching for him on foot, because it would have been too easy for them to miss him if he hid behind a tree or a boulder. Their best chance at finding him would have been an aerial search, but the storm had most likely made it impossible.

The odd thing about the weather was the endurance of it. According to the time-telling spell, Harry had escaped four days ago and the weather hadn't cleared up at all. If anything it had gotten slightly worse if the fallen trees around were any indication. The rain had turned into hail and he had to cover his head with his wings when out in the open. Though it had helped him avoid the angels pursuing him, it was now against him as he could not fly as fast as he wanted to if the hail struck him all the time. He'd be stuck on the same pace as the pursuers, not a good idea if you were on their turf. During the time he spent comatose, they could have called for reinforcements and supplies which would help them find him and since he was still too weak to move from the hundred metres around his camp, he wouldn't be able to put up a fight. Which meant one thing…

Traps.

Harry was not a survival expert nor a soldier trained in wilderness combat, but those flaws could be rectified by appropriate amounts of magic. Sure, the angels were too powerful to be hurt by the magic he could use at the moment, but when combined with the holy light he could use and the materials found in the forest he was sure he could take a few of them out. Spiked plates and pitfalls immediately came to mind as he imagined Pravel witnessing the result of his ingenuity. All he had to do was…

"You, are a strange one."

He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a voice speak in front of him. Not behind or to the side, but in front of him, where he should have noticed if a stranger had appeared. He dropped the fish he was holding into the pot of hot water, splashing the steaming liquid all over his pants. He cursed and stood up before he got a good look at the newcomer.

It was… a small girl, about ten years old. She wore something similar to a gothic Lolita costume and her black hair reached all the way down to her ankles. She was short and petite, just a like a real child, but there was something in her expression that told him she was more than just a random brat. The fact that she was in a forest close to a warded research facility which would have forced normal humans away just made it too obvious. Had she been human she would have never gotten this far into angel territory, but here she was and she had been able to sneak up on him without him noticing even her presence.

"What makes you say that?" he asked her. He had no idea what she was so he wasn't going to risk using Legimency on her. If she was more powerful than the angels hunting him then he would have signed his own death warrant.

"You do not have a specific scent. You smell like a human, but you are not a human. You smell like an angel, but angels can't be created anymore. There is also a smell of snake around you, something dark and cruel, akin to an evil dragon. That is why… your smell is odd, unlike the ones who live here." The girl said. She put emphasis on the `Evil´ for some reason. Maybe she had a bad experience with dragons and thought they were mean or something?

Had Harry known what she was, he might have been able to make an appropriate response. He could have made a calculated guess on what she wanted to hear or attempt psychology to make her talk and reveal who she was and what she wanted. Had he been younger and less experienced in talking to unknown creatures or dark wizards, he might have let out a sarcastic response about personal hygiene or the lack of soap in pine forests. Instead he did the only thing he could think of when stuck in a forest surrounded by enemies and with a strange little girl who kept staring at him.

"You hungry?" he asked, pointing to the pot filled with pieces of potato, mushrooms, berries and now fish.

It had been a foolish question. Nobody is dumb enough to ask an unknown and/or dangerous creature if they were hungry, especially if you're not sure it is you they want to eat. You definitely don't ask them that if you're still too weak to run away from whatever you're asking. The girl however did not seem to mind the question and simply looked down at the pot.

Then at Harry.

Then at the pot.

Then at Harry.

"I, am hungry." She said in a monotone voice. She did however watch Harry's movements with an unusual focus, as if he would take the pot and run away at any given second. When Harry had given her a bowl and spoon carved from wood, she did not wait to eat the meal provided for her. Instead she ate spoonful after spoonful of the bland and watery soup, not even stopping to breathe. When she had finished her portion she put the bowl down and once more stared at Harry in total concentration.

"What are you?" she asked, as if she had not just devoured the meal Harry had made for himself. Harry, on the other hand, had been able to relax and the tension in his body disappeared from the gap of her personality she had shown him. He had been scared she was a subordinate of Pravel who had been sent to capture him, but it seemed that was not the case. She would not have eaten the food he prepared out of fear he had poisoned it (which he hadn't, considering he wanted to eat all of it and he didn't fancy his resistance against toxic plants), and she would not have revealed herself if she could sneaked up on him like she had. In other words, she was not some kind of super-angel sent to kill him.

Of course he was not going to let his guard down. She might not be in league with Pravel and her sycophants, but she was still an unknown factor capable of killing him in his weakened state. His magic would not work against angels unless he had the reserves to back him and he was too weak overall to use a spear or holy light to fight. Even a normal human had a decent chance at taking him down now, unless he wanted to use the unforgivable.

"I'm… I'm not really sure of what I am. I used to be human, but I guess I'm an angel now. The problem is that the other angels want to kill me so I don't think I'm what you would call a pure angel. I'm a rogue, I suppose." He told her. It wasn't as if he was lying, he really didn't know if he was a real angel. He had the powers of light and holy, he could fly with his wings and he had a golden halo above his head so he definitely looked the part, but exactly how much he was an angel he did not know. 80%? 90% ? It's not like they told him anything. All he knew about his "Angelization" was that he had changed enough to escape the wretched place. Anything else was unimportant. Could he have become a real angel? Possibly, but he didn't care about that so much. The thing that worried him was the third thing she thought he smelled like.

"Why did you think I smell like a snake?" He had carried a part of Voldemort's soul for most of his life so it might have something to do with it.

"You, smell like a snake. As if you have become a snake… or a dragon. You have snake inside you. A dark snake, one that is dangerous to your kind." Had she just repeated the word snake in every sentence she had said? What is with her vocabulary, and her way of speaking for that matter? It gave her a sense of… innocence? Cuteness? It made you think of a little child who was trying to make itself appear older and more mature. The effect was ruined somewhat due to the monotone voice and expressionless eyes, but she seemed very odd even for the people Harry had met over the years.

"I see. I don't suppose you know where we are. I'm a bit lost you see, and I am very late for a meeting back home. Is there a bus station anywhere near here?" His usual wit was returning now that the tension was disappearing and unless the girl had zero sense of humour, she would understand the meaning behind it. He was trapped in the forest during a storm clad in dirty medical clothes and he was looking like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Surely even a creature as outlandish as she must…

"Twenty miles that way…" she said pointing in a direction Harry guessed was north. "… is a road. One direction leads to Glasgow, the other to Aberdeen. When is your meeting? And who are you meeting?" Harry had not other reaction to offer other than a gaping jaw. Not only had the girl missed his joke entirely, but she had also responded with absolute certainty. Had she counted every single step she had taken form that road or had she used some kind of magic to find it? He had not seen her cast a spell or even sensed any magical build-up. Whatever she had done had either been a natural effect or a very subtle piece of magic. Yet another reason she was more dangerous than she appeared.

"Riiiiiiiiight… Um, who are you? I'm fairly sure you're not human, not completely anyway and you seem to know a lot about this place if you can tell where the road is. " Of course, she could have been lying about the road in order to lure him into a trap, but she showed no will to trick him. Harry's instinct had told him she wasn't lying and it rarely led him astray. Except for when he was making friends. He failed spectacularly at that.

"I'm, Ophis." She said in that odd and strange way of speaking.

"And who is Ophis?" If his ignorance of her identity annoyed her, she did not show it.

"You will find out who I am. If a dragon exists in this world, it will undoubtedly find itself in conflicts. Then you will realize who I am." The cryptic answer he received did not alleviate his curiosity, and he was actually a little frustrated at the lack of proper response. Instead of finding out who he was speaking with and how she had known where the road was, he had been given a dismissal instead.

"Well, if that's all then I suppose it's time to hit the hay. Don't stay out in the forest for too long now. There are bad creatures out here, and I'm not in any shape to help you out. Feel free to help yourself to some more soup, but I can't guarantee the taste of it." He told her and headed for his shelter.

He didn't need to turn around to know she was devouring a second portion of his wilderness soup.

Was it really that good?

* * *

**The Wings of Storms**

Albus Dumbledore was a great man. He had defeated countless dark wizards and protected the wizarding world from destruction since he was a teenager. He had graduated from Hogwarts with the most OWLs and NEWTs in centuries and had used the skills gained to better the world for the Greater Good. The world saw him as a hero, an undefeatable champion of the light. Albus thought the masses were right in their worship of him, but even he had to admit some of the stories were too outlandish.

For example, some of his most stanch supporters had convinced themselves that he could not be defeated in an honest duel. While he was a skilled duellist, he knew he was not the greatest, strongest or fittest fighter around. In fact, he knew several British wizards who could defeat him if the duel was honest: Flitwick, Tom Riddle, Harry Potter and Minerva McGonagall being a few of those who came to mind. They had either talent, power, skill or the mind to win against him if they were to fight and most of them had several of these factors. All of them ranged from young to old so the tales his followers spun about him were false at best.

The reason he had been able to stay as the leader of magical Britain for so long had been for one single item he had found in his youth: The Elder Wand.

Using its power, he had defeated opponents who were far superior and whom she should never have been able to defeat in his current state. It was also the reason he had been able to stand above the more skilled and younger wizards and witches who were starting to assert themselves. With the most powerful wand of all, he had created the image of flawless leader and power. None could dispute his claim to leadership with his prized possession in hand.

Until he had lost it in a moment of carelessness. When he had taken Young Harry to the cave in order to show him the fake horcrux, he had to drink a potion to make him look weak and vulnerable. It had all been an act and he could have shrugged the effects off in less than a second. When he returned to Hogwarts he had therefore not considered the possibility of the Malfoy boy being able to cast a spell in less than a second as well. He had lost ownership of the wand and had not been able to reclaim ownership of it before Severus had blasted him of the tower using a disguised cushioning charm. The illusion had been used afterwards by him as well, but the effects of losing the Elder wand had already appeared. The disease which had been eating him since decades before had been stopped by the wand's control of life and death, but without it he would weaken and die within a few years.

He could not appear after he had faked his death so he had spent the entire year looking into ways to repossess the wand he had lost, using the many scrolls he had pilfered from the libraries of the Potter and black families. Dark rituals and other obscure forbidden spells, but it was impossible to reclaim a wand from someone who had claimed ownership of a wand from you. He had almost lost hope until he discovered the loophole: taking a wand back from someone who took it from you was impossible, but not from someone else. In other words, he could make Young Draco lose the wand to Mr Potter and then claim it from Potter. Harry would be disappointed to lose the wand, but he would accept the decision of his elder and wiser headmaster.

Only, Harry did not accept the decision. In fact he didn't trust Albus at all anymore after he had faked his death. He had told him he had broken the wand after he had defeated Voldemort so that nobody could use the power ever again. Albus had not believed him, not for a second. The Elder wand could not be broken like some weak tinder from Ollivander. It was unbreakable and would never splinter or fault in the hands of its master. Potter had simply not wanted to share the power he had gained from it. The fact that two of the Deathly Hallows were in the hands of a wizard not even two centuries old was disconcerting and Albus had seen what happened when someone gets too greedy with power. No, Harry could not be allowed to keep the wand or the cloak anymore. He had to be removed, for The Greater Good.

He had hired Mr and Miss Weasley as well as Miss Granger to kidnap the boy and remove The Hallows from his possession. It had been far too simple. Miss Granger had used her intellect to break into his home without alerting his wards and Miss Weasley had navigated their way into the apartment, using her knowledge as a former resident to her advantage. When Harry had entered his home, tired from the training and work, he had failed to notice Young Ronald until it was too late and his _friend_ had bashed him in the back of the head with a beater's bat. They had known not to use magic since Harry's resistance was as high as a wizard could possibly get, no doubt from having two of the Deathly Hallows in his proper possession.

Once that was over, they had taken everything in the apartment and divided the spoils among them, with the exception of the mantle which had been given directly to Albus. They had thought it would be over by then, but they had failed to realize on thing. The ownership of the wand had not shifted to Albus yet. It had instead gone over to Ronald Weasley, a foolish young man who spent more time on food and quidditch than on his studies or work. He could not be allowed to keep it either so he had decided to… remove him from the equation. His body had been dumped into the Black Lake and the mermen had been delighted at the midnight snack.

That however left two other witnesses who would have known what had happened to their friend and brother. Hermione Granger had been sold off to the Greengrass family, they had wanted a new toy for their daughter Astoria and a witch who could double as a tutor and slave was in high demand. Granger had been lucky, she had secured a place in the wizarding world for the rest of her life without any test or job interview whatsoever, the only downside was that young Astoria was known to… break her servants and as a lesbian, her marriage options were limited. Thus she was prone to take out her sexual frustration on her servants.

Miss Weasley on the other hand was a pureblood, though from a lesser house stricken with poverty. She could not be sold as a slave, despite the financial status of her family. No, her memory had been wiped and she had been reduced to being a baby-making factory, one of his more ingenious inventions. After the second war, the population of purebloods had been at a dangerous low and actions had to be taken to overcome the threat of extinction. Marriage with foreign purebloods had been one such action, but it had been a slow and delicate procedure, filled with politics and feelings. The womb-facility had been his idea and one of the more secretive operations of his organization. They had kidnapped young purebloods that had lost most of their family and altered their memories to turn their entire life goal into producing offspring. The children had then been placed into muggle families and upon graduating from Hogwarts would be convinced to marry other purebloods. Miss Weasley's first child would be Harry Potter's actually. He had asked Pravel to extract several samples of the boy's semen in order to restore the boy's bloodlines. The Potter and Black lines were far valuable to lose just because they carried small amounts of mudblood in them. Without a puppet to withdraw money with, he would not lay his hands on the fortune the families had been known to have. The child she was currently carrying was about eight months along so it would only be a matter of time before he could take a peek at the mountains of scrolls and tomes the families had possessed.

It had been a difficult cover-up, especially considering their close ties to the order, but Moody and Dung had succeeded in their tasks, partly because of Moody's expertise in kidnapping and partly because of Dung's contacts in the Knockturn Alley. The three had played their parts wonderfully, but their use had run up and they had instead become liabilities. Weak links, so to speak.

It was supposed to have ended there, the Potter boy was supposed to have been removed, The Hallows was supposed to have fallen under Albus' control and the witnesses should have been out of the picture, leaving Albus as the sole winner.

The reason Dumbledore was frustrated was because it had not ended there. His disease was not halting and he was not feeling as empowered he felt when he was the master of The Elder wand. Even if he did not know where the physical manifestation of the Hallow was, he should still feel the effects of being its master. He should feel a hundred years younger, and yet he was feeling just as weak and frail as he felt before he killed the Weasley boy.

The other reason he felt frustrated was because of the cloak, the second Hallow. He could not find it. No matter where he looked, he could not sense the enchantments he placed on it. It had disappeared and he had no idea where it could be.

The third and final reason was because of the visitor in this office.

"I was not expecting another visit so soon, Pravel. Tell me; is there any reason why you have decided to grant me the honour of your presence in my office? I have to admit I am curious as to why you have broken your tradition of never stepping foot in Hogwarts more than once a year." His grandfatherly persona was never wasted on Pravel when he visited her, but here in Hogwarts he had an image to maintain.

"Due to unforeseen circumstances, we have been forced to dispose of the materials we currently have on our hands. That includes the batch we received last week so we find ourselves low on test subjects. We're going to need another shipment as soon as possible." The angel told him in the same arrogant and superior tone she always used when addressing him. it never failed to grate his nerves, but he did not drop his grandfatherly and patient persona. To do so would just give her the satisfaction of victory, knowing she had gotten under his skin. It was an old game, one she always played with him.

"Really? What kind of circumstances are we talking about? An epidemic infecting the subjects? Genetic incompatibility? Perhaps they just looked at you funny? I wouldn't be surprised if you decided to get rid of them because of a single experiment." He told her. They might be working together for a common goal, but they had no sense of camaraderie for each other. Needling each other had been a guilty pleasure for decades and both of them doubted they would stop any time soon.

"Nothing of the sort, little Albus. The Chief of Security decided our facility was too exposed and that we must change locations, despite most of our work being invested into the subjects we currently have. We spent an entire afternoon terminating the failures and transporting the few successes we had to a brand new laboratory. The problem we face now is the lack of "Fresh Meat", so to speak. We were hoping you could take a look at that fantastic school register of yours and tell us how many we should be expecting."

The frustration he felt before seemed to multiply from her casual response. He had already supplied her with a substantial amount of children this year and she was telling him she had disposed of them because of the paranoid ramblings of another angel. He was both disgusted and aggravated by her waste of resources. To begin with, there weren't that many muggleborns left this year. The years before had been rich with the halfblooded bastards, the result of Death Eaters raping muggles indiscriminately, but the years after the war had left its mark on the muggleborn community. Instead of giving her a mixture of halfblooded children and muggleborns, he had given her muggleborns only, hoping to keep some of the bloodlines that went extinct during the war active through the bastards left behind. A filthy bloodline can be cleaned by marrying purebloods; a dead bloodline can't be restored however.

But there was a limit to how many muggleborns he could use before the lack of new blood was discovered. If the number of muggleborns were to dwindle to single digits then an investigation would be demanded, if his experience with Amelia Bones were any indication. The only people who keep lists of muggleborns were the Department of Mysteries and Hogwarts Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress. The Department of Mysteries would be investigated briefly since all members are bound by oath to speak the truth to the Department Head (They can thank Rookwood for that) so The matriarch of the Bones family would come for him and Minerva and knowing her, she would wow to take Veritas potion in order to prove her innocence, prompting Amelia to demand he take it as well. A confession to Amelia of all people who he knew he could not kill or obliviate due to the defences she had taken as a department head. He would be exposed and imprisoned before he could utter the word `Bugger!´.

"Could you not wait until next year and make do with what you have? We are unfortunately running low on muggleborns and the halfbloods we currently have are heirs to nearly extinct families. Losing any of them could draw unwanted attention to the both of us." He tried to reason with her. Pravel was one of the most stubborn people he had ever met, but she sometimes realized keeping him around was for The Greater Good. He had the best opportunity to supply her materials and he could influence the younger generation. Once he had taken his place among the angels she was so proud of, he could do even more and gain greater power than anyone could hope for. Why couldn't' she realize Heaven needed him?

"Unfortunately we can't do that. We very recently made a breakthrough in our research and our scientists are very eager to implicate our theories into practice. But the meagre resources we have are already in stage one so using them to confirm our thoughts will give us conflicting results. We need new subjects, not old ones and we need them now, Albus." Her voice had increased in volume, something he had never seen before. She had mocked him, laughed at him, tried to humiliate him, but never lost her temper. It was a novel experience, to be on the other end of the antagonizing relationship, but a worrying as well. Pravel had been predictable in her calm state; now that she was angry he had no idea on how to handle her.

"I understand your concern Pravel, but I'm afraid my hands are tied. I can give you a few muggleborns, but I won't be able to get anywhere near the amount I've been able to get you for the last couple of years. The muggles have been slow in breeding the last few years and the muggleborns have been on the decline. The halfbloods have increased, but not significantly. Is it not possible to simply use muggles in your experiments until the population has had time to recover?"

Despite his views on the muggle population and the mudbloods, he knew they were a necessary evil. Inbreeding amongst the purebloods weakened the magic in the lines and the pureblood population was a small one to begin with. Families such as the Malfoys and blacks had begun inbreeding amongst cousins, but families like Crabbe and Goyle had already begun breeding between siblings. The Gaunts passed that boundary centuries ago and look where that got them; extinction. Muggleborns were necessary for the continuation of the magical species as a whole, but only for the value of their genes.

"Oh Albus, you never fail to amuse me! Use muggles, you say? The entire time we have been researching ways to reincarnate humans into Angels we have been using wizards as templates. To start using civilians all of a sudden would be a major step back and all our theories and research based on the magic of you kind would be for nothing. No Albus, we need wizards! I don't care if you take them from muggles or purebloods, but I will get my materials and you will supply them for me!" The look in her eyes told him she was not putting up an act to intimidate him. She was serious about her demands and Dumbledore felt some kind of primal fear grip his heart at the sight of fury.

"I… I will see what I can do. I make no promises, the shipment won't be nearly as abundant as the earlier ones have been, but I'll try to get at least a few. It's the best I can do on so short notice." He relented, wishing she wouldn't let her anger out on him. He did not want her to release her Divine Punishment on him, especially when he had not regained control of the Elder Wand yet.

She did not yell or attack him. Nor did she Joke about the limits of humanity or the weakness of his body. In fact the reaction he received was the polar opposite of what he had expected from the furious angel standing in front of him.

She smiled.

Not the smile a victor sends to the loser after a humiliating defeat. It was not the smile a friend gives a friend after they decided to help each other. It was not the smile of an enemy finally triumphing over the opponent.

It was the smile of an aroused woman. The blush on her cheeks, the glazed look in her eyes, the heavy breathing… all of it pointed to the fact that Pravel was sexually aroused for some reason. Why she felt as such was not something Albus wanted to know, he might lose something important as a human if he tried to understand it before his ascension. All he knew was that her face filled with orgasmic pleasure would haunt him to the rest of his days.

She did not notice his displeasure, but responded with absolute glee. "All we ask is all you can give, Little Albus. Never forget, you came to us and unless we succeed in our mission, you won't escape the ravages of your little STD. The least you can do is donate a dozen or so children and have them ready before the first of August, little boy. I'm very eager to try out our new base's equipment. I'll come back to tell you where to drop the shipment off. Goodbye, Albus." With that, she activated a magical circle and she disappeared in a flash of divine light, leaving Albus to think in his solitude.

Where was he supposed to find a dozen of muggleborn children? There were hardly any real muggleborns left, you could count them on one hand and still have fingers left. If he wanted to deliver the order Pravel had given him, he'd need to use the halfbloods to compensate, but most of them were from important families who would go extinct without heirs, families with plenty of gold in their unused vaults. If he lost heirs then the gold would go to the next-of-kin or be donated to the government, making Dumbledore lose out on much needed campaign funds. His plans would start next year and the Hogwarts funds would not be able to cover the economical black hole which was the political election. Amelia Bones, Lord Greengrass, Lady Zabini and Amos Diggory were all powerful opponents, but the unexpected contender to the position of Minister of Magic was Neville Longbottom, the weakling of Gryffindor. He thought the boy had no courage whatsoever and that it had been his grandmother who had forced him into the election. Having gone to visit old Lady Longbottom, he had hoped to convince her to pull back on the nomination. Much to his surprise, it had been Neville himself to had volunteered and had refused to stand down. The arrogance of the boy! He had no respect to his elders and would defy him openly like that!?

It had been the disappearance of his friend, Harry Potter, which had spurred him into the political scene and to try and make the wizarding world a better place. If only he could see that he was doing the opposite. By defying Dumbledore, he was splitting the light side apart and giving the dark wizards the advantage. The brat had even told him it had been his fault the Potter boy, Granger and the two Weasleys had disappeared. While he had been right in that regard, the boy had no right to accuse him of that. He would have to make special precautions in removing Longbottom while maintaining his kind persona.

But he was digressing. His dilemma of finding muggleborns and halfbloods of lesser importance still remained even if he strayed from the topic.

He had to stop. His mind was tired and his body as well. He could think of a solution tomorrow.

He didn't even bother thinking about why the Chief of Security though the old facility was no longer safe. It wasn't like any of it could lead back to him; none of the victims at the facilities had ever seen him or his henchmen. As far as the world was concerned, Albus Dumbledore was a saint.

* * *

**The Wings of Storms**

Harry had honestly not expected everything to go so smoothly. He had expected some kind of barrier or a ward he had to break, prompting dozens of angels to swarm his location and force him to activate his dozens of traps in order to fight his way out before he could leave. Instead he had found himself flying along the road towards Glasgow, spear in hand if he found any angel soldiers along the way. The silence was eerie and the lack of enemies made him think of an ambush, but despite what he had expected, he did not fight a single enemy on his way to Glasgow.

His plan had been to find a place to rest up and think of a plan to get back to London, but he had zero cash and his clothes looked like he had escaped from an asylum. He wouldn't make it twenty feet into any hotel, hostel or train station looking like he did now. That meant he had to do something he had told himself he would never do, no matter how starved or cold he might feel after Vernon had thrown him out: he broke into an empty house.

He had checked before he entered. The owners were wealthy and from old money, they wouldn't miss a few pants and shirts, and they fridge was fully stocked. Using a little of his Legilimency, he was able to make the couple think they had to take a walk in the park, and after they left he unlocked the door. The first thing he did was to take a shower and find out just how bad his current condition was. It had been worse than he had hoped for, but not as bad as he had feared. His ribs were visible, along with the bones in his arms and legs. His face looked as if it was a skull covered in skin and he made a terrifying sight if he simply stared at the mirror. His entire body was covered in grime and dirt, but nothing a little water wouldn't fix. He would have to clean the infected wounds with disinfectant, but he had been through worse.

Having taken a long, hot shower for the first time in over a year, he looked into the man's closet. Shirts from every brand in the world, from japan to Europe hung in the walk in closet. He had wanted to take the least expensive-looking one, but he had no idea which one had cost the least, they all looked the same in his eyes. He finally took a black shirt and pants-combo after he stole a pair of underwear and socks. He took a blazer and red tie to complete the image, because if he was doing it then he as doing it all the way. He had never known how it felt to miss wearing suits, but now he knew. All hail the mighty suits! Finishing the look with a pair of leather shoes, he was out the closet and heading towards the kitchen.

During the first decade of his life, he had spent countless hours in the kitchen in Private Drive nr 4. After that he had let the house elves at Hogwarts cook his meals, but he still remembered the feeling of being in a kitchen and cooking up meals fit for kings. Of course, the Dursleys would have been able to enjoy the taste of real food even if it danced in front of them wearing nothing, but a thong, but he knew with the right ingredients he could make a glorious feast. As he stared at the kitchen in the house he had broken into, he knew he had to buy a real kitchen when he got out of Britain.

The stone island in the middle of the room gave him the space needed to cook for his life. The gas stove was perfect for frying the meat. The pasta was from Italy and was boiled to al dente. In his twenty years of life, he had never known such pleasure from simply preparing a meal. He was almost disappointed when he realized he had already finished the meal he was starving for. He devoured the meal quickly and when he saw what time it was, he felt sadness from the bottom of his heart at having to leave the kitchen of his dreams. Before the owners of the house came back, he took a few pounds from their wallets and left through the front door, feeling fresh and free for the first time since he had been kidnapped.

As he walked he thought about what needed to do. He already had a small list of things he had to do when he got back to London: Kill Dumbledore, find out what the old goat had done with his inheritance, take back what the goat had taken from him, get revenge on his former friends and finally leave Britain. The only problem with the plan was the people in it. Dumbledore was the leader of the light and after the Second War, he had been elevated to the position of champion. Harry had also been considered a hero, but Dumbledore had been active politically longer than Harry had been alive so it was safe to say he had done something to grab all of Harry's fame for himself.

So killing the old fart would make him the new `Dark Lord' once more, despite what he said in his defence. He also couldn't let the old man live after what he had done. Every cell in his body told him that Dumbledore had to pay for his crimes. Getting his things back and paying his old friends back was also on fundamental things he could leave alone. The final piece was something he had however decided on recently.

Britain had never helped him. He had saved it time after time after time after damnable time again. The only thanks he had received were rumours and insults. He had no love lost for Wizarding Britain and he doubted they would leave him alone if he stayed in the muggle part of it either. He had to go overseas, preferably outside of Europe. The ICW had little power outside of Europe and wouldn't be able to demand anything from him if he stayed in another continent. The downside would be his limitations in terms of language. He knew no other language other than English, courtesy of Hogwarts lack of language courses, but he could still go to places such as USA and Australia. Both seemed like better alternatives after his experience with the UK.

Seeing the city of Glasgow up ahead, he realized just how long he had been thinking and how little he had figured out. He shook his head free from distracting thoughts and focused on the town around him.

After asking a native where the airport was, he was on his way to England once more. Most wizards were unable to think creatively when it came to muggle security and he had seen the morons who thought a single Confundo could fool a video camera, so he had conjured a fake passport before he entered the airport. When he passed the security he used magic to make the alarm soundless and he confounded and obliviated the security officer. The plane would depart in three hours so he spent that time catching up on news and eating yet another meal.

Hey, the guy was starving. Who could blame him?


End file.
